


Don't Be a Diva

by The_Audacity



Category: Bleach
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:55:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 64,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29637738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Audacity/pseuds/The_Audacity
Summary: Ichigo and Uryuu sign up to co-star in an erotic feature film, even if they really can’t stand each other off-camera.
Relationships: Ishida Uryuu & Kurosaki Ichigo
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	1. When the Day Met the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Ensemble Bleach cast, IchiIshi and various background relationships.
> 
> Partially inspired by an old IchiIshi ficlet with a similar premise, which I believe was posted on the LJ Bleach kink meme once upon a time. There are a lot of porny snippets and a fair amount of explicit sex scenes in this story. Check the warnings list for possible triggers. Shout-out to Yochiru 29 on DA for the pic mentioned in chapter 8!
> 
> Theme songs: anything by Panic! At the Disco, especially “The Good the Bad and the Dirty”
> 
> Warnings: lots of explicit sex (yaoi, het, mentions of yuri), threesomes, mild S&M themes, toys, bondage, drug & alcohol use, mild violence, strong language, mature themes, crack, fluff, slow-burn, song title references, porn industry inaccuracies

So, yeah. Kurosaki Ichigo is a porn star but hold the judgment, please.

The industry really doesn’t deserve the bad rap it’s given. Okay, _sometimes_ it does but for the most part it’s composed of creative, intelligent people who are very passionate—all possible puns aside—about what they do. Besides, Ichigo likes to think he only works with the best and brightest in the Biz, not those sloppy studios who will fling together any carnal trash they can conjure up. Writers, directors, producers, set crew, and even fellow actors are chosen very carefully depending on the project. It helps that he has Tatsuki as his agent; she’s graced with a sixth sense for finding decent people and it has never led him astray.

Which is why he listens when she reads the name ‘Ishida Uryuu’ on the confirmed cast list of his next potential feature and says ‘yes’.

“He already signed on without knowing who his co-star will be,” Ichigo notes around a sip of hot cocoa. “That’s a little…I mean, I’m the last person who should ever use the word ‘reckless’ but…”

“Oh, like you haven’t done that before? It just means he’s a professional who is confident he can work with anyone. He’s bisexual, right?”

The clink of her tea cup touching its saucer punctuates the bold question. Tatsuki tosses a glance around the café’s patrons more out of innate curiosity than concern for being overheard. They have been doing this sort of thing far too long for her to still be as self-conscious about shop-talk as she once was.

“So am I but there are still plenty of people I never want to have sex with, on camera or otherwise.”

“True. However,” she begins, flipping to a relevant page in the script, “Have you forgotten the part where his character wields a bow? Even without stunts, they still want someone with archery proficiency to fit the role, just like they want someone with kendo experience to fit yours. Those types of specialties are rare in our sector.”

Solid point. And it’s not like Ichigo is against working with the guy. He’s seen some of the slender raven’s films and there’s nothing wrong with his…anything, really. Acting, attractiveness, ability, style. It’s all above-par by common standards; he’s got the awards, renown, and bank account to prove it. Ichigo might even say he’s a bit of a fan. Plus, the high-quality script was written and suggested by one of his favorite directors, Urahara Kisuke. The pay is also not bad at all.

“All right, yes. I’ll do it.”

“Yeah? Excellent. I’ll let the producer know.”

Slouching back in his chair as she types the email, Ichigo sips his drink and murmurs, “Tell Yoruichi-san I said hello.”

“Done and…sent.” Tatsuki tucks her phone away and gives him her full attention. “So. How’s the family?”

Ichigo snorts, eyes rolling because she always asks that as if they don’t see or at least speak to each other every day. He chomps into his half-eaten croissant and doesn’t protest when she reaches out to pinch a piece off the end.

“They’re fine. I swear you always mention them when we’re discussing work just to mess with me. Jerk.”

“Who else is gonna keep you on your toes?” she snickers, wholly unrepentant. “It’ll be that much funnier when your sisters finally figure out what you do for a living.”

Horror tints his expression as he darkly mutters, “Kill me now. I think Karin might be suspicious, if she doesn’t already know.”

“Whaaaat? How? You don’t think your dad—”

“Nah, Goat-Chin would never sully his precious daughters’ clean minds like that. Not even to embarrass me.” Which is one of Isshin’s favorite hobbies, to be sure. He shakes his head and sighs, “Best guess? She stumbled onto one of my movies by chance but couldn’t say it outright because, you know. Porn.”

“How _did_ she say it? Give me the full story, Ichigo. I want details!”

“Last week we were walking around the mall looking for her boyfriend’s birthday present,” he begins, abandoning his mug to lean forward across the table, “Then out of _nowhere_ , Karin asks if I’ve seen any ‘hot gay flicks’ recently—like it’s the most casual question in the world!”

“What use is a bi older brother if you can’t get erotic recommendations?” quips Tatsuki with a flourish of fingers and an arch of eyebrow. “Seems reasonable to me.”

“Ha-ha. My sisters might be aware and accepting of my preferences but that doesn’t mean we chat about stuff like that! I freaked out, totally froze up. What could I say? All I could think was, ‘Oh, god, she knows’ over and over. I was so distracted I almost tripped over a toddler on a leash!”

She brings her hand up to cover an explosive laugh too late, spraying flecks of scavenged croissant onto the tabletop. The older woman blowing on her latte one table over shoots them a warning glare and Ichigo ducks his head in apology for the disturbance. Tatsuki sobers under his annoyed gaze.

“Would it really be so awful if they knew? I’ve been telling you to just spill the beans on that topic for years. They’re not as fragile as you assume.”

“It has nothing to do with how _they_ feel about it. I know they’re mature enough to handle it but _I_ would never be able to face them again. Have you considered the fact that I use a pseudonym like everyone else? Meaning, the only way Karin could find out is if she _saw me like that_.” Tatsuki cringes lightly and starts to comment but he avidly continues, “I can’t imagine anything more mortifying than my baby sisters watching me fuck someone!”

This time the woman next to them makes a sharp, affronted noise and Tatsuki apologizes to her before placating him.

“There, there. Psychological scarring aside, maybe it’s time we let that cat out of the bag. It’s a pretty obvious cat, seeing as you dropped out of college a while ago, yet you’re somehow never low on funds and have lots of free time. Not to mention the occasional fan letter that makes its way to your old family home, where your father and Yuzu both still live.”

“Dad loves those letters. Gives him a reason to call and humiliate me via inappropriate praise.”

“All I’m saying is: isn’t it better than them thinking you joined the Yakuza and became a crime lord?”

“No. It isn’t.”

His best friend of more than half his entire life shrugs and finishes the rest of her tea. Tatsuki straightens her clothes in preparation to leave. The red beaded bracelet he gave her at their high school graduation is conscientiously adjusted at her wrist.

“Well, enjoy your inner turmoil. I’m gonna catch the bus home before it starts to rain.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“No need. I have a couple of podcasts to listen to anyway. You better get started on memorizing that script!”

Standing with a farewell wave, she grins at his lingering discomfiture and turns to escape. Ichigo does his best to knock those thoughts out of his head and mostly manages it after a moment. He munches the final bite of croissant and gulps the last of his chocolate. When he gets up, brushing crumbs from his lap, the older woman is staring at him. Wishing he could pretend this isn’t a regular occurrence, Ichigo nonetheless flashes her a sexy smirk and a suggestive wink as he passes.

The way she rips her eyes away on a faint flush is a mood-boost for eccentric reasons. Ichigo has always enjoyed tearing down social stigmas and generally being a rebellious young adult. Now that he’s in his late twenties, that hasn’t really changed. It’s not that he’s hinting he’d sleep with her at scant provocation—in spite of his job description, he is _not_ a slut—but the tease is harmless fun for both of them, which is why he does it.

It is raining when he exits the café, as Tatsuki predicted. He uses the script as impromptu umbrella on the way to his parked car and quickly digs his keys from the front pocket of tight jeans. The drive to his flat is uneventful, if taken slightly slower due to the weather. Ichigo parks in the garage and forgoes the elevator to jog up the stairs. Every extra bit of exercise improves his stamina, after all.

Six floors later, he strides to a stop before his door and pants softly as he unlocks it. The place is just how he left it, save for the green-haired woman loitering nervously in his living room. She gasps from the first sight of him. Overjoyed tears start welling in her eyes. Ichigo pauses, then sighs.

“Nel, we’ve talked about this. You can’t just break into my apartment whenever you feel like it. Boundaries, remember?”

“I know,” she whimpers, wiping at the wetness spilling onto her cheeks. “I know and I tried so hard to stay away but I…I’m so sorry!”

Opening the door, he says, “I’m not angry. Okay? So, don’t cry. But you have to stop doing this, Nel. And you need to go.”

“Of course. I’m sorry!”

He watches her dash into the hall and winces when her blurred vision makes her bonk into a narrow table at the far end of it. Neliel is his biggest fan. Obviously. Ichigo has heard dozens of love confessions over the years but hers was the only one he ever believed. Even so, what she feels for him seems much closer to idealistic adulation than anything based in reality. She’s harmless, but a tad more invasive than he would prefer and he resolves to get his locks changed. Again.

Collapsing to his plush red couch, Ichigo stretches out across its generous surface and throws an arm over his face to block out the overhead light. It’s late and he’s tired but he really does need to read through the script more thoroughly. Knowing Yoruichi, she’ll schedule the preliminary cast meeting bright and early tomorrow morning, then bitch him out for being late with only an hour’s notice. If he’s unprepared on top of that, well…let’s just say he’ll get some new bruises in the not-fun kind of way.

Yet, when he moves his arm to drape it over the splotchy pages atop his belly instead, whim supersedes reason. Ichigo slips the cell phone from his pocket and swipes it awake. A lazy type of an uncommon name is auto-corrected to perfection and a tidy array of Ishida Uryuu’s best photos fills the screen. One tasteful black-and-white sample catches his eye above the rest. Messy dark hair alluringly obscures beautiful half-lidded eyes, the rich blue of which provide the only colorful counterpoint. The delicate furrow of his elegant brow belies casual yearning. There is a cigarette drooping from the corner of his deliberately parted mouth, a thin trail of smoke curling out at an angle to emphasize how he’s reclining on his side. The gauzy button-up he wears is parted to showcase a tantalizing strip of well-defined torso, down to where the dark band of his underwear peeks out from unbuttoned khaki slacks.

Hmm. Yep, just as hot as he remembered.

Poking that particular picture with a thumb to enlarge and save it, Ichigo wonders how their paths haven’t crossed sooner. They’re close to the same age and tend to operate in similar circles. He’s seen the man at awards shows and parties but they’ve never directly interacted. It isn’t hyperbolic to say Ichigo admires his work and is looking forward to meeting him in person. Peering closer at the selected image, he thinks it wouldn’t be an overstatement to say he’s looking forward to working with him, too.

Not for the first time, he’s immensely grateful Tatsuki has a way of talking him into the things that make him skeptical. Ichigo smiles at the notion and shifts to study the script, picturing his handsome co-star as he reads. This is going to be a _very_ pleasant project.

Sure enough, Ichigo wakes the next morning to four missed calls and a slew of unread messages on his silenced cell. Scanning the text previews, he curses and jumps out of bed. The meeting is in less than thirty minutes and it will take at least twenty to drive across town! The cursing continues as he scrambles to get ready, pondering what Yoruichi will do if he isn’t there on time. Good thing he showered last night.

Reaching into his closet, he throws on the first fabric to touch his fingers. Ichigo runs a hand through mussed hair and deems himself presentable. It’s just a small gathering of people he’s mostly familiar with, so he doesn’t exactly have to be runway-ready. Script, keys, wallet, phone, hoodie, shoes. His grumbling stomach will have to wait, he decides as he locks the door behind him and hurries downstairs to his car.

Traffic is always shit this time of day and it takes longer than it should to get there, but he still makes it to the studio space with three minutes to spare. Halfway through the building to their usual conference room, Rukia pops her head out of the storage room and promptly yanks him inside. A jarring jumble of creative mayhem assaults him in the cramped room. This is where outfits, wigs, makeup, and other such theatrical accessories are housed. Urahara’s resident Keeper of the Costumes stands amid the colorful chaos, perturbed not by her surroundings but by whatever she hijacked him about.

“By all that is cute and fluffy, Ichigo! Is it true?”

“Is _what_ true?” he cries, tugging free of her absurdly strong grip.

“Are we really working with _the_ Ishida Uryuu!?”

“Uh…as far as I know, yes. So?”

“What do you mean ‘so’? Don’t you know he once shared a scene with Nii-sama?”

Oh, that is…fairly impressive, actually. Her older sister’s husband, Kuchiki Byakuya, is a legitimate actor. More legit than anything Ichigo has done, anyway. He’s in films that show in big theatres rather than just dim bedrooms. Rukia’s brother does not do porn, but he has been known to indulge in a love scene every so often. Male or female, doesn’t really matter because the man is an _artist_ and he won’t be constrained by political correctness. It’s one of several characteristics Ichigo respects about him. He has seen one or two of Byakuya’s movies and they are sophisticated in ways he could never manage, but that gorgeous guy might be capable of it.

In the handful of seconds Rukia allows his stunned silence, he imagines it.

_Seated in a silvery shaft of moonlight, Byakuya holds the smaller man balanced above his lap. The naked expanse of Uryuu’s slowly undulating body is offset by the hands gently caressing his sinuous back. Byakuya draws him closer for a sensual kiss that inspires a breathless groan. The pale sakura-patterned kimono clinging to broad shoulders is displaced by curious fingers as Uryuu dares to ask for more than he is given. A rough squeeze of his rear elicits a gasp and he rocks that much faster against the rigid length sliding into him._

“ _Byakuya-sama,” he moans, briefly biting his lip, “Please touch me? I want to feel you. I need…”_

“ _Hush, Uryuu-kun. I know exactly what you need.”_

_Byakuya takes firm hold of him and laps at a sharp nip to his neck. Uryuu arches and cries out as the pleasure overtakes him._

“ _So_ hot.” Rukia is scowling at him when he blinks back to reality. “Um, I mean…that’s cool.”

“You fool! I’ve told you not to think of Nii-sama that way!”

“It’s your fault for putting the idea in my head,” retorts Ichigo, dodging a smack aimed at the back of said head. “So what if he worked with Byakuya? Are you saying you can’t be professional ‘cause you’ve got a crush on the dude who made out with your brother on camera?”

Outrage stains her cheeks and he can’t evade her next strike. “Idiot! Of course I’ll be professional! And I don’t have a crush on him!”

“Then what’s the problem? Look, I’ve got somewhere to be. They’re waiting on me to start the meeting, so go fangirl at someone else.”

They aren’t waiting on him, as it happens. Ichigo interrupts Urahara’s chipper cadence by walking into the room holding his rolled up, crumpled, water-stained script and looking like he just rolled out of bed—which he totally did—and four people pause to stare at him. Urahara’s expression is hidden beneath his appallingly ugly hat, as usual, but the rest of them range from marginally surprised to downright disdainful. Ichigo balks to see his brand new co-star sporting the latter. He doesn’t look _that_ bad, does he?

Taking the empty seat between Yoruichi and Yumichika, who co-wrote this story, Ichigo broadcasts a businesslike persona in the hopes his discretions will be excused. No luck.

“About time you decided to grace us with your presence,” the aggressive woman to his left declares. “Only ten minutes late this time!”

“Is this typical behavior for him?” asks Uryuu with more of that tepid scorn.

Ichigo does a double-take because he’s wearing glasses. None of his photos indicate he has anything short of perfect vision. Then again, most porno actors wear contacts by necessity. Much like athletes or anyone who does sweaty, rigorous physical activity for a living. Oddly, the specs sort of suit him.

“What Kurosaki-san lacks in punctuality he makes up for in dedication and talent.”

“You don’t have to cover for him, Kisuke. Ishida-kun will be forming his own opinion on our adorable delinquent soon enough.” Turning back to Ichigo, she threatens, “Now, did you study the script and take notes like a good boy or do I have to hurt you?”

Grumbling something in the affirmative, he subverts the urge to flinch away when she darts a hand out to snatch his abused booklet. Yoruichi flips through the pages and hums approvingly at the penned annotations she spies there.

From his right, Yumichika leans over to ask, “What did you think of my lovely descriptions?”

“Very, uh, descriptive.” At the former model’s flat look, Ichigo distracts, “How’s Ikkaku?”

“Happy that I’m writing this film rather than starring in it this time.”

Ichigo hums agreeably. Having been privy to his fair share of their relationship highlights, he doesn’t need clarification to understand the insinuations. Ikkaku is an extremely jealous man who barely tolerates Yumichika’s on-again, off-again acting career. Still, they’ve been together for over a decade so they’re doing something right. Ichigo secretly believes that jealousy is part of what keeps the fire stoked between them. But Ikkaku would kick his ass if he ever said it aloud.

“All righty,” Kisuke chirps with a clap, “With all the niceties taken care of, shall we get back to the subject at hand?”

The subject being combing through the script and making sure everyone comprehends everything it encompasses. They go at it piecemeal, scene-by-scene, so there won’t be any misunderstandings. This way small edits are noted and any concerns are addressed well before problems can crop up later when it gets costly to correct them. Ichigo does his due diligence regardless of his wavering focus.

An issue further exacerbated by how his mind keeps wandering over to his co-star. He’s even more attractive in person, and about a hundred times colder than Ichigo envisioned. So far, he has not observed so much as a single glance his way from the esteemed actor. It appears Uryuu has taken to ignoring him rather than endure the disorganized picture he presents. It’s true that once Ichigo bothers to check, everyone else is wearing much nicer clothes than his ripped jeans and faded t-shirt ensemble. Uryuu himself looks like he was on his way to parley with some CEO in a lofty skyscraper before he detoured to this dump first. A stylish charcoal grey blazer is draped over the back of his chair, emphasized by a brilliant white button-up.

“I have a problem with the bathing scene,” Uryuu interjects with a tap to the bridge of his sliding glasses. “Is there any chance we could switch locations?”

“Why?” To everyone’s collective shock—including Ichigo’s—the word came from his mouth. He frowns defensively under their scrutiny and argues, “People love shower sex. Why should we take it out just for you?”

Uryuu makes a short noise like sucking air through his teeth. There is a definite pinch to his features as he coolly responds, “That’s personal.”

“More personal than talking about porn?”

An uncertain hush follows his audacious comeback. Urahara clearing his throat doesn’t break the tension.

“If you must know, I have a medical condition.”

“What kind of condition?”

Yoruichi shoots him an incredulous look and Yumichika rubs idly at the curled edge of a page, fake eyelashes batting the stifling air like jittery butterflies. Uryuu’s pretty blue eyes go sharp and steely to match his suit.

“Low blood pressure.”

“I still don’t see what that has to do with—”

“It means I can develop dangerous hypotension under certain types of stressful conditions, _therefore_ ,” he snaps when Ichigo starts to interrupt, “Wet and shivering and aroused is not an ideal condition if I want to avoid _passing out_ on set. Is that enough information, or do you require further elucidation?”

“Could’ve just said that from the beginning,” Ichigo mutters. Yoruichi pokes him in the side.

“I’m sure we can arrange a fitting alternative,” prevaricates Kisuke. “If there is nothing else, may we consider this meeting concluded? Ishida-san, I believe Kuchiki-san mentioned she doesn’t have your measurements yet. If you wouldn’t mind stopping by her office on the way out? Kurosaki-san can guide you there.”

Ichigo scoffs at the word ‘office’ in relation to that glorified closet and Uryuu swivels a low-grade glare in his direction for a fierce instant before responding.

“Of course, Urahara-san.”

“Ayasegawa-kun, can you follow me and Yoruichi to my office? There are still some wrinkles in this draft that need ironing.”

Say what you will about Urahara’s dubious personality, but the man is an effective and organized leader. The three of them rise and file out of the room, leaving him and Uryuu alone. Ichigo watches him gracefully stand and drape his jacket over a shoulder like he’s walking into a photo shoot instead of the dingy hallway of a small erotica studio. Uryuu doesn’t let him lead as much as he allows Ichigo to tag along beside him.

“By the way, Uryuu,” he says en route, holding out a hand to shake, “Since we haven’t officially met before, it’s nice to meet you.”

The man stops, overlooks his offered hand, and tersely replies, “Despite the physical intimacy we will soon endeavor to portray, I would greatly appreciate it if you would not be so familiar with me, Kurosaki-san.”

He takes it like a slap, letting the extended arm drop to his side. Ishida—as he resolves to call him henceforth—resumes his march down the hall toward Rukia’s lair without him. He doesn’t get far before Ichigo catches up to halt him with a light grip on his shoulder that is immediately brushed off.

“Hey, do you have a problem with me or something?”

“I have a problem with those who don’t take their vocation seriously, particularly where it may impact mine.”

“Who said I don’t take it seriously?”

“Your attire, for one. Your tardiness, for two. Your apathetic attitude, for three. Should I go on?” His lenses tilt to reflect the harsh fluorescent light overhead and Ichigo gets a strange inkling it’s deliberate. “Not to mention the incessant growling of your stomach all throughout the meeting. Were you so preoccupied this morning that you couldn’t even find the time to feed yourself?”

His reply is delayed due to that awkward battery of truth. Put that way, Ichigo can see how he’d come across as indifferent to someone who doesn’t know him. That doesn’t mean he’s keen on taking a verbal lashing from some haughty guy he just met. Where does Ishida get off criticizing him so harshly for trivial crap like that?

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get the opportunity to voice any of this since Rukia steps into the hall from her magical wardrobe and spots them a ways down. She approaches and gestures invitingly.

“I thought I heard voices. Come inside, you two.”

“You just need him, right? I’m going ho—”

“No, you don’t, Ichigo!” she dissents, grabbing his arm in her mystifyingly secure clutches. “I need to renew your measurements, as well. Did you think I wouldn’t notice you’ve been hitting the gym more often? You’ve probably gained at least ten pounds of muscle since the last film we worked on together!”

He makes a dismayed grunt but lets her drag him into her demesne and shove him into an armchair draped with half a dozen scarves. Ichigo tugs a random stuffed baboon from under his butt and chucks it onto the floor with utter disregard for its wellbeing. Ishida gives him a bland once-over before turning his attention to the diminutive seamstress.

“Kuchiki-san, I presume? Nice to meet you.”

Ichigo glares murder at his back for the overt double-standard as Rukia practically swoons.

“The pleasure is all mine, Ishida-kun! May I call you Ishida-kun?”

“By all means. I look forward to working with you.”

He can’t see Ishida’s face but it’s got to be a more pleasant expression than anything he’s shown Ichigo, based on the way Rukia is beaming like a lunatic. His tone of voice is much milder, too. That suave asshole.

“Let’s get right to it, shall we? Would you mind taking off your shirt for just a moment?”

Rukia grabs the tailor’s tape and a notepad while Ishida complies and Ichigo…well, he may have seen plenty of shirtless people already but he can’t help perking up now. The teasing photo he saved to his phone last night had him itching to see the full spectacle in-the-flesh and he wasn’t expecting to get it this early. The shirt comes off slowly, and Ichigo isn’t sure whether that’s for his benefit or Rukia’s, or whether Ishida is just that used to making a show of it every time he strips. Either way, Ichigo is openly ogling him from the safety of subterfuge.

Ishida quietly clears his throat and that’s when he notices the reflection in a wide vanity against the adjacent wall. Their eyes meet through the mirror. The bastard smirks at him. Ichigo looks away and crosses his arms on a huff. He schools his countenance into something distinctly disaffected.

Blissfully unaware of their understated mini-drama, Rukia flutters about his stationary form taking measurements and making notations. She’s fast and it doesn’t take long until she’s bending a knee to begin surveying the lower body dimensions.

“Do you need my slacks off, too?”

Ichigo’s eager twitch is nearly imperceptible, but it’s there. He doesn’t dare check to see if Ishida noticed.

“Ah, no, that should be fine. All of the bottoms I’m designing for this feature are relatively loose-fitting. It’s mostly your torso armor that I need to get just right.” She finishes up in no time and rises to inform, “All set! You can put your shirt back on.”

While he does that, his change in position affords a new perspective of the front. Ichigo almost misses Rukia waving for him to get up so she can fit him next. It appears the attributes in that photo were not air-brushed on, not a single swell or ridge embellished. Ishida’s definition is all natural, just like his. Except Ichigo has a little more of it. He shrugs out of his hoodie and reaches back to tug the t-shirt over his head without preamble.

“I didn’t say you had to strip. You’ll be wearing yukata, so there’s no need for that level of precision.”

“Well, it’s off now so hurry up and get it over with,” he gripes because he can _feel_ Ishida’s amusement at his expense. “I was trying to save you the trouble of asking me, brat. You should be grateful I’m so considerate.”

“Don’t call me a brat, you failed hooligan!” She’s already lifting his arm to the side for the first measurement.

Folding the blazer over an arm, Ishida smooths imaginary creases from his top, announcing, “If that’s all you needed, Kuchiki-san, I’ll be going now.”

“Yes, that should be it for today. See you later, Ishida-kun!”

They wave at each other like dorky best buds and Ichigo scowls at being ignored. Again.

“Hey, Ishida,” he calls just to make the man pause at the door. “See you on set.”

The corner of his mouth tightens but he gives no reaction otherwise. Ichigo watches him stroll out, paying no mind to Rukia’s dainty touches here and there as she does her job. He waits all of twenty seconds before diving into it.

“So, that dude is kind of a dick, right?”

Violet eyes narrow as she says, “What are you talking about? He was the perfect gentlemen. You could learn from him!”

“But—”

“He’s exactly as Nii-sama described; he had nothing but good things to say about his time working with Ishida-kun. Do you know how rare that is for my brother?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Just because he didn’t fawn all over you like most of your co-stars tend to doesn’t mean he’s a ‘dick’,” Rukia sternly remarks as she completes her update of his specifications and straightens. “What do you expect when you come to meet him looking so shabby and tired like a rejected Hollister model? Not a great first impression, Ichigo.”

“Okay,” he allows, resisting the urge to grit his teeth, “Yes, I could’ve tried harder. But he—”

“Listen, you can make excuses until you’re blue in the face but it won’t change anything. If it bothers you that much, you’ll simply have to make a better impression on him.”

Defeated, Ichigo growls under his breath and pulls his t-shirt back on. He hates it when she’s all rational and right like this. Which is frequently. There’s a reason she’s on his speed-dial list, however, and he knows better than to keep debating when Rukia gets that adamant little frown between her eyebrows.

“Fine. I’ll try harder next time.”

“You better. Do you have any idea how long Urahara-san has been trying to sign Ishida-kun for a film?” Ichigo doesn’t know or care but he’s not about to admit that out loud. She reads it in his expression anyway. “Just…don’t mess this up for him, okay? For us. I’m excited to work with Ishida-kun, too, and I’ll be so mad if you chase him off! Got it?”

He nods and very carefully does not roll his eyes or sigh in her presence, though he wants to do both. Geez, the way everyone is acting you’d think Ishida is Prince Charming personified or something. So far Ichigo would say he more closely resembles the Ice Queen.


	2. Don't Threaten Me with a Good Time

Ichigo shows up for the first day of rehearsals in a great mood. Really, he just loves the fact that he gets to rehearse at all. In his youth, he was less discerning about which projects he signed on for and it was a lot of ‘daily grind’. Literally. Show up, screw, go home. It was fine at the time but his tastes have since become somewhat refined. Now he has lines to learn and moves to memorize. He has props that aren’t toys and costumes that aren’t made of rayon or spandex. It’s nice.

The bokken feels good in his hand—not like _that_. The wood is smooth and cool and familiar as he twists and bends and stretches through the kendo kata he learned as a kid. Although it feels weird to be wearing workout clothes while he does it, he is just glad he hasn’t forgotten any of the basics. Ichigo pauses on a vertical swing with right arm upraised at a slant and left leg kicked backward for balance. The muscles remember better than he does, minutely adjusting his position before he consciously realizes it’s not quite perfect.

A sound at the training room door has him relaxing into a casual stance. It isn’t Ishida, who is already ten minutes late for practice, and he quells a frown at the resulting spike of agitation. After treating him so harshly at the meeting, he’d better have one hell of an excuse for pulling the same schtick today.

“Warm-up all done?” asks Hisagi, their weapons and choreography expert. He is carrying a small selection of replica blades and bows for them to choose from. “I’m not really sure what Urahara-san had in mind for your sword, but I’m pretty sure he wants Ishida-san to use a shortbow. What do you think?”

“You’re asking the wrong man,” Ichigo shrugs. He walks over to pluck a black-bladed katana from its silver peers. “I like this one.”

Hisagi nods. “Thought you might. I picked it with you in mind.”

The rest of the collection is aligned in a neat row out of the way by a corner. Ichigo swiftly runs through the same kata with his chosen weapon and exhales contentedly when it flows seamlessly.

“So, you’re not just a face after all.” Both of them look up to see Ishida hovering just inside the doorway. “Looks like I owe Ayasegawa-san five thousand yen.”

Ichigo’s grip tightens on the hilt. Beside him, Hisagi’s eyebrows rise but he doesn’t comment. Apparently, word has already gotten around to the entire crew how spectacularly he and Ishida _didn’t_ hit it off their first day. And it doesn’t seem as though it’s going to be an upward trend from here.

“Wow. You show up late and then resort to insults? Who’s the one not taking their job seriously now?”

“That wasn’t an insult,” he asserts, perusing the selection of bows, “Just the opposite. And I’m not late: Kuchiki-san intercepted me on the way in and asked me to try on her prototype armor.” Picking a weapon, Ishida aims it at him before drawing and releasing the naked string as he adds, “I assure you, Kurosaki, I am _very_ serious when it comes to my work.”

A dense hush trails his words like dissipating smoke. Once it clears, Hisagi commends, “Excellent form, Ishida-san. I’m glad to see your agent wasn’t exaggerating your abilities.”

“Thank you…Hisagi-san, is it?”

The man in question confirms his identity and a vein in Ichigo’s forehead threatens to pop as the two bow shallowly to each other in greeting, civil as you please. Every time this happens, he is that much more convinced Ishida is purposely bewitching everyone but him for some nefarious purpose. There’s no telling who else is already under his spell!

The pair start yammering about archery stuff and Ichigo tunes out. He busies himself by becoming familiar with the dark blade. His movements become faster and more fluid as his confidence grows. ‘Not just a face’ is right! He’s got _skills_ and Ishida had better prepare to be outshined on film because Ichigo isn’t going to hold anything back.

Pausing to take a breather, his gaze automatically seeks his fictional opponent. Hisagi is standing off to the side as Ishida slows and emphasizes the classic archery form for the sake of potential critique. Ichigo’s frown deepens as he arrives at the conclusion that the man probably doesn’t need any. He doesn’t know the first thing about wielding a bow but even a novice can tell when it’s done properly because it looks so streamlined and effortless. Ishida’s intrinsic grace on top of that? The term ‘majestic’ comes to mind. Damn it.

“Are you sure he’s qualified to use that thing, Hisagi-senpai?” he can’t help indirectly taunting. “I’m not sure I trust a weapon in the hands of someone who fits the ‘sexy librarian’ cliché to a T.”

“‘Sexy librarian’?” Ishida repeats like it’s the dumbest thing he’s ever heard.

“What? It’s your own fault for wearing those glasses and being so pale. All you need is a stack of books to carry around.”

Chuckling at his own joke, Ichigo starts back in with the slashes and strikes. So, he really isn’t expecting to suddenly be shot in his left butt cheek. He howls more in surprise and indignation than pain, dropping his sword to rush over and grab the cheap-shooting twerp. Knocking the bow from Ishida’s hold, he shoves the man against the wall hard enough to send his glasses sliding down his nose. He doesn’t raise a finger to fight back. Hisagi is there in a flash, propping a bracing hand to each of their shoulders.

“Kurosaki, get a hold of yourself,” defuses the concerned bystander. “I’m sure it was an accident.”

The culprit stares at Ichigo over the rims of his lenses and calmly intones, “No, the arrow met its target as intended. Luckily, the arrowhead is rubber and now he can rest assured that this ‘librarian’ is harmless, qualified or not.”

“It still hurts, Ishida! How about I whack you with my bokken and you can tell me all about how ‘harmless’ it is?”

“If it makes you feel better.”

His fists clench harder into the thin cotton of his t-shirt and Ichigo _growls_ at the man’s condescending smirk. Hisagi shakes him and calls his name again.

“Let Ishida-san go. Take a break or something. Cool off.”

Another tense moment of staring each other down, and Ichigo does precisely that. He releases Ishida and pivots on a heel to stomp out of the training room before he does something stupid. This isn’t him. This _used_ to be him but he hasn’t been that aggressive street punk in years. Hasn’t been in a a straight-up fist-fight in years. It’s not that he’s even that pissed at Ishida. He’s pissed but not enough to use petty violence as an outlet. Something about him just raises all of Ichigo’s hackles at once.

He makes it to the breakroom without causing another scene, but he almost walks right back out when he spots Keigo and Mizuiro sitting at the long table snacking on a shared bag of popcorn. They greet him normally, oblivious to turbulent emotions underneath the surface. Their normalcy helps Ichigo wind down, and he sinks into a chair beside them.

“Hey, guys. What’s going on?”

“Not much,” ventures Keigo around some buttered kernels. “Want some?”

Declining with a shake of his head, he figures he should maybe drink some water, though. As if on cue, Mizuiro hands a bottle over. The personal assistant and tech expert always has three things on his person at all times: his headset, at least three bottles of water, and an infinite amount of lube. Ichigo has no clue where he stores everything on his petite frame but he has never known the man to run out of lube packets. It’s Keigo who holds the condoms, though. Makes sense, since he’s the official ‘fluffer’.

Yes, he has sucked Ichigo’s dick. Many times. Yes, it’s always kind of awkward, but it got a lot less awkward after about the twentieth time. He knows for a fact that Urahara pays the go-getter very well and Keigo has never complained, so.

Ichigo chugs half the bottle in one go and gasps in a huge breath afterward. He lets it ease out as he wills his riled blood to settle.

“I told my girlfriend about this production and she’s been begging me to let her visit once we start shooting,” gossips Mizuiro.

Not for the first time, Ichigo wonders why a straight dude would work for someone who generally sticks to directing gay porn. Maybe it’s an atypical example of gay-for-pay. He’s not curious enough to ask.

“Might as well bring her on set,” Keigo advises with a lazy shrug. “Soi Fong visits Yoruichi-san all the time, and Tatsuki drops in to check on this lunkhead.”

“That’s different; Tatsuki’s my agent.”

“And Yoruichi-san is pretty much second-in-command around here so her lover gets an automatic pass,” the most sensible of the trio points out. “No, I’m not about to risk stepping on any toes no matter how grateful my lady would be. But it just goes to show how much acclaim this film is bound to get.”

“You think so?”

“Definitely,” nods Keigo. “You or Ishida Uryuu separately pull great numbers on your own. Together, and with Urahara-san’s team? It could break _records_ , man. That’s the chatter on the vine, anyway.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Ichigo dismisses, gulping down the rest of his water.

Their speculation peters out as a new face walks into the room. A fair-skinned woman with ovular glasses and a vintage sailor-style school uniform approaches one of the vending machines, paying zero heed to their presence. Even with her dark hair contained in a long braid, the dual sky blue streaks streaming from her temples are eye-catching.

“Who’s that?” whispers Keigo. The other two shrug.

A series of beeps yields a bag of cookies and she pops it open as she turns to them at last. She chews and swallows one before introducing herself.

“I’m Yadoumaru Lisa, Ishida Uryuu’s agent. You can call me Lisa-chan.”

Another cookie is consumed before any of them musters a response.

“Um, nice to meet you,” volunteers Mizuiro. “I’m Kojima—”

“I know who you are. All of you.” Crunch, crunch, munch. She’s making Ichigo hungry. “What do you want to know, Kurosaki-kun?”

“Uh…sorry?”

“You have questions about Uryuu, right? Most people do, especially the ones he collaborates with.” He deduces that’s a euphemism for ‘the ones he fucks on camera for cash’. “Go ahead and ask but I can’t promise to answer everything.”

“Hmm…I really only have one question: why is he being such a drama queen?” Keigo gasps dramatically and Mizuiro’s eyes cut to Ichigo’s. “What? If you guys had seen the way he’s been acting around me, you’d wonder the same thing.”

“He hasn’t mentioned anything specific. If I had to guess, I’d say you must have offended him somehow. Uryuu is always very polite and respectful unless you get on his bad side.”

“Then, theoretically, how does one get back on his good side?”

“You could try apologizing,” she enunciates slowly, as if instructing a child. At his testy look, she relents, “It’s true that he errs on the stoic side of socialization. It takes a _long_ time for him to trust people. But if he’s being bitchy to you in particular, it’s probably your fault. Or it’s a misunderstanding. Considering how intelligent Uryuu is, however, the chances of that are slim. He has an IQ of over 170, you know.”

Keigo splutters, “Holy shit! Really?”

“If he’s so smart, why is he a porn star instead of a doctor or scientist?”

“He has a doctorate, actually,” Lisa counters, obliterating Ichigo’s skepticism with her undeniable sincerity. “He had a falling out with his father and never went through with his residency. If you ask Uryuu, it was the best decision he ever made.”

“Are you sure you should be telling us this?” Mizuiro, the perpetual voice of reason. “It seems awfully personal.”

“Why? Are you guys gonna blab to the press?”

They shake their heads with varying levels of energy, Ichigo least of all. Though he is also least likely to ever go near a paparazzo if he can help it. Those people are vultures. He watches Lisa retrieve a green apple from a fruit basket on the counter and blinks in confusion when it is transferred from her palm to his.

“Thanks?”

“It’s for Uryuu,” she clarifies in a tone that begs why he’s being intentionally dim-witted. “A peace offering. He doesn’t care for sweet things but sour is okay.”

Inspecting the apple in a fresh light, Ichigo more firmly reiterates, “Thanks.”

Lisa plants hands on her hips when he just sits there. “Well, what are you waiting for? Him to come to you?”

“Right. I’ll, uh, see you later,” he says to his friends. To her, “Nice to meet you, Lisa.”

On his way out, he grabs an extra water bottle from the table, too.

Hisagi and Ishida are leaning on either side of a narrow window, heads bent close as they pour over the script in quiet conversation. Ishida points at a section of the page with the cadence of a question and Hisagi hums agreement. They look up in tandem to hear Ichigo’s approach.

“Here,” he grunts to Ishida, holding out the refreshments.

“I’m not hungry.”

A reflexive fire in his gut isn’t permitted to spread elsewhere. Ichigo retries, “It’s a peace offering. For earlier. I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that.”

“An ‘offering’?” Ishida lowers the pages and regards him more carefully. Eyes on the apple, he asks, “You met Lisa, didn’t you?”

Well, damn. He really is smart!

“Yeah.”

“In that case, it would be rude not to accept.”

He passes the script to Hisagi so he can take the bottle and fruit. Ishida bites into the apple with a tart crunch and assesses Ichigo as he chews. It’s a little unnerving now that he has a better idea of the brainpower backing that gaze. Not that he thought Ishida was a dunce before, but knowing the man has a hefty degree under his belt is a tad intimidating. Ichigo couldn’t even finish his bachelor’s. To be fair, he’d also had a lot going on at the time. But he would rather not reminisce on that chunk of his life.

“Hisagi-senpai, get me caught up?”

“Sure thing.”

His tone is friendly enough but he’s giving Ichigo this look like he suspects a pod-person under guise of his real kouhai. Still, Hisagi explains the scene while Ishida nibbles and sips. They’re supposed to grapple a bit after disarming each other, which means sparring to ensure they won’t mess it up on film. It’s not a problem. Ichigo practiced karate even longer than kendo. He knows how to hurt and how not to hurt, how to quickly subdue and how to safely incapacitate. The hard part will be…not getting hard. Because on one hand, he’s tipping toward disliking Ishida as a person but on the other hand, he’s still majorly attracted to the man and wrestling is one of Ichigo’s favorite kinks.

Ten minutes later, Ishida’s glasses are folded on the windowsill Hisagi is still leaning beside with crossed arms. Ichigo is limbering up on the mat and his ‘enemy’ is patiently waiting for him to signal readiness. The moment he does, Ishida pounces like a panther and down they go. Even though it’s all choreographed—expected and intentional—it still gets his pulse hammering excitedly. Particularly when Ichigo is straddled with one arm pinned. The fingers of his free hand constrict around an unguarded throat and Ishida’s mouth parts on a soft whuff of air. _That_ isn’t scripted. Color tints his cheeks and his breathing changes from one instant to the next.

“You okay?” he asks Ishida just in case.

“I’m fine, but you need to be rougher, Kurosaki. I won’t break.”

“But—”

“What’s the point of signing two actors with black belts if it only translates as a playful tousle?”

That’s all well and good but, “I don’t want to leave bruises.”

His gaze is on the delicate flesh of his long neck, thumb rubbing idly at the centerline as he estimates how easy it would be to press dark marks there. His Adam’s apple bobs beneath the pad of Ichigo’s thumb. His eyes jump up to Ishida’s, half-lidded with his hair veiling them like in that delightful photo he can’t seem to get out of his thoughts.

“That’s what concealer is for.”

Conceding to superior logic, Ichigo increases the power when he flips them to reverse their positions. Ishida looks just as tasty sprawled beneath as he had braced above. The thought has him licking his lips against the urge to lick his partner instead. Legs come up to cinch around his waist and Ichigo actually has to struggle not to be toppled—he’s not supposed to be—until he tightens his grasp on Ishida’s airway.

He briefly shuts his eyes and makes a muted sound but his brow is smooth so Ichigo doesn’t worry too much. They aren’t reciting the lines yet, but this is the part where he will tell Ishida’s character in vague terms that they are about to get undressed for a naughty romp. Presented with no alternative besides the risk of injury or death, he will surrender to Ichigo’s character and relax. As he thinks it, the tension leaves Ishida’s muscles in a visible gesture of consent.

Finally, Ichigo’s character will let go of his neck and Ishida’s character will shift his legs to bring their hips closer togeth—

“Shit,” Ichigo groans as his erection grazes a thigh.

“Kurosaki.” He gives a little sideways wiggle so his matching affliction can be detected. “It happens. No need to swear about it.”

“What’s wrong?” Hisagi leaves the window to inspect their predicament. Ichigo almost forgot he was there.

“We’re hard,” Ishida boldly broadcasts. “He’s embarrassed.”

“Ah. That’s…a positive sign, isn’t it?”

“For our purposes, it is,” he replies, looking right at Ichigo. “Ready for another round?”

Ishida’s legs unlock and they pick themselves up off the mat. Ichigo attempts to be inconspicuous as he instinctively checks the man’s outline through his pants. He probably fails but Ishida doesn’t mention it. They get back into starting position and do it all over again. When Ichigo isn’t focused on applying the optimum amount of strength, he is taking measured breaths to keep his heart rate as level as possible. He isn’t about to lose control like an inexperienced teenager, but that doesn’t mean he should let himself spiral into raging arousal when he’s supposed to be concentrating on perfecting the routine.

They work at it for the better part of an hour, eventually progressing to adding in their weapons. Hisagi occasionally steps in to coach them but for the most part he stays on the sidelines. By the time they separate one final time, Ichigo is confident they won’t mess it up on set. He rolls off Ishida and splays out on the mat with eyes closed as he wills himself to calm _down_. Hearing his co-star sit up but not rise, Ichigo is puzzled at what he says next.

“Hisagi-san, would you mind leaving us alone for a few minutes?”

“Actually, we’re done for the day, so I’ll just see you both tomorrow.”

“Thanks for your hard work.”

Ichigo snorts every time he hears that. Yeah, it’s sort of childish but that phrase is a double entendre in his line of work. It always gets him. The dirty smile flees his face to feel Ishida gently settling onto his lap. His eyes snap open to stare.

“I thought we were done practicing.”

“We are.”

His ass slides lower, dragging over Ichigo’s persistent arousal. The friction makes him flinch in unexpected pleasure. He’s on the razor edge. How can he not be after indulging foreplay for the past hour-plus? There’s a sizeable gap between being professional and being inhuman; he hasn’t quite reached android-level restraint yet.

“Ishida.”

“It’s always awkward, isn’t it? The first time you climax with a new person. That can translate on-camera, too.”

He isn’t moving anymore, but his body is a steady warmth above Ichigo’s crotch. Ishida gazes down at him, waiting for the answer to a question he won’t ask outright. This is honestly a first. He has never had a fellow actor solicit sex _before_ filming together. Usually if they know they’re slated to do it anyway, they aren’t overly eager to cut to the chase ahead of time. Ichigo acknowledges the wisdom in his observation, though. He has watched enough movies to recognize that moment when two strangers make each other come and it’s simultaneously weird and awesome and a tiny bit gross.

If the first time is going to be awkward either way, Ichigo would prefer the option of privacy. He never thought about it before.

“Yes.”

One of Ishida’s hands dips under his t-shirt to spread across Ichigo’s bare navel. His fingers are soft and warm, palm damp where it rests just above the hem of his sweatpants. Ishida props the other hand to the mat beside his shoulder and leans down. Smoothing palms over knees to grip his thighs, Ichigo feels heat flood to the surface as silky locks tickle the left side of his cheek. His mouth parts in response to seeing Ishida’s do the same. He can smell citric acid and the tip of his tongue wets in anticipation of the tangy flavor.

The kiss is so close and Ichigo gets impatient for it. He leans up to connect their lips but Ishida ducks back at the last second.

“On second thought, Kurosaki,” he begins in a normal tone of voice unsuited to seduction, “Let’s let the tension build a little longer.”

And he disengages to go fetch his glasses by the window.

“Wha—hey!”

He’s out the door before Ichigo is off the floor. All he can do is stare after Ishida in astonishment. That jerk seriously did that on purpose! To get back at him for earlier, no doubt, regardless of the apology. Just when Ichigo was starting to think he wasn’t that bad after all, Ishida goes and proves that he really is. Oh, he is not going to let this one go. No way!

“He’s so fucking _stubborn_.”

Tatsuki makes a stifled sound like she’s trying not to laugh. Instead of glaring at her—at this point, it would be redundant—Ichigo tucks hands into his leather jacket pockets and kicks a bottle cap across the sidewalk. He watches it go skipping down an alley, the grungy yellow street lights glinting off polished metal.

“Sorry, it’s just…hate to say it but you could be describing yourself, you know.” He does glare at her again for that one. She shrugs. “More importantly, there’s a bigger picture here. You met Ishida-san a week ago and you can’t shut up about him.”

“Because that’s how much he pisses me off! I swear every time I see him, he finds a brand new way to get on my nerves.”

“If it was all that bad, Urahara-san would step in.”

“Yoruichi-san threatened to disembowel us if we didn’t stop ‘disrupting everyone with our spats’. Does that count?”

Chortling at the cartoonish imagery her mind summons, Tatsuki doesn’t respond. She nods to a familiar bouncer, who holds the door open as they slink into the club via the talent entrance around back. It’s not _that_ kind of club, although Ichigo did some freelance dancing once upon a time before he found his niche. Crazy=Genius is more of a cramped concert hall than anything. He used to come here as a teenage patron long before the manager started booking him as an adult artist. Not _that_ kind of adult.

“There’s probably more to this rivalry than you realize.” She leads the way down the hall and pushes open a door at the end for Ichigo to walk through first. “Lower your guard for five seconds. He might surprise you.”

Well, he considers giving Ishida the green-light in the training room last Tuesday ‘lowering his guard’ and look how that turned out. Blew up in his face, didn’t it? And not even in the fun way.

“Who’s surprising our Deathberry?” asks Grimmjaw, reclined on the sofa sipping whiskey. Or, chugging is a more apt description.

The agent who moonlights as a band manager perches on the armrest and supplies, “His latest co-star: Ishida Uryuu.”

Sitting at the vanity applying too much eyeliner, Riruka perks up at the mention of his other job. The turquoise-haired lead singer sits forward in equal interest.

“For real? You’re doing a flick with that pretty boy?” Ichigo nods, dropping onto the cushion beside him. “Kurosaki, you’d better send me a copy of that DVD or I’ll kick your ass.”

“Don’t I always?”

A feral grin splits Grimmjaw’s face into a white slash showcasing his preternaturally pointy canines. When he and Ichigo were dating—more like humping regularly—he asked if they’d been surgically sharpened but Grimmjaw would never give him a straight answer. They certainly made for some interesting bite-play. Back when Ichigo was temporarily lured into the hardcore scene, anyway.

“Me, too,” Riruka calls dibs. “Not because it’s you or anything. I see everything Uryuu-kun plays in.”

“Big fan, huh? Just don’t let him hear you using his first name or you’ll be stuck on his shit-list for _life_.” She bats accentuated eyelashes in bemusement and goes back to perfecting her red pigtails’ symmetry. Ichigo sighs and asks, “Where’s Chad?”

“Tuning his beloved guitar. Where else?” Grimmjaw isn’t ready to let the previous subject drop. “You fucked him yet?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Can I watch?”

“No outsiders on set. Don’t act like you forgot. You can watch it on disc in a couple months like everyone else.”

“You of all people know how impatient I can be,” he rumbles in that impossibly deep voice that drives their crowds crazy in the best way. “At least introduce us.”

“Tch. As if you’ve got a shot with someone like him.” Grimmjaw makes a swipe for him but Ichigo dodges, complaining, “Hey, hands off! I’m shooting tomorrow, dumbass! If you put one scratch on me, Rukia will murder us both.”

He sneers but doesn’t launch a second assault. Rukia can be terrifying when she tries, even to former criminals and permanent bad-boys like Grimm.

Ichigo occupies himself with some arm exercises for the rock show they’ll be playing in about fifteen minutes. Tatsuki is fiddling with her phone, probably optimizing their schedules for next week. He seriously doesn’t know how he would function without her organizing his chaotic life. Left to his own devices, Ichigo can scarcely organize his own _thoughts_ , much less anything additional.

Suddenly, she glances up from the screen to blurt, “You should invite him to a set.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” purrs Grimmjaw. “Be sure to bring him backstage after.”

“Do it, Ichigo.” Their bass player’s eyes are even larger than usual as she implores, “I’ll never ask you for another favor again.”

He scoffs at the trio’s collective glee for the prospect and hedges, “I really doubt Camisado plays anything Ishida wants to hear.”

“You don’t know that,” Tatsuki disputes. “I’ll email Lisa to find out.”

“Since when are you pen pals with Ishida’s agent?” grouses Ichigo, affronted at the very idea. She doesn’t answer, too busy typing. “Screw all of you star-struck idiots, I’m gonna go hang out with Chad.”

He’s getting so sick of everyone around him raving about Ishida. While he hasn’t forgotten the fact that he, too was a fan before he met the man, that ship has sailed. Rukia may have had a point about Ichigo being used to hogging the limelight but this isn’t that. This is him being frustrated because he’s never interacted with someone as conversely enchanting and infuriating as Ishida. He can put up with it for a few more days to finish the project. That’s easy. What he can’t abide is all his friends mooning after the arrogant brainiac and badgering Ichigo to lure him into the fold.

Tracking his guitarist and best friend to the curtained fringes of stage right, he greets Chad with as much affection as he ever displays. They exchange a brotherly handshake-hug because it’s been over a week since they met up. Ichigo gestures to the man’s favorite guitar, decked out in a glorious design featuring all sorts of Mexican and Japanese imagery melded in masterful harmony.

“How’s she sounding tonight? Ready to wail like a banshee?”

“Mn.” Translation: absolutely! “You?”

“Oh, I’m gonna _destroy_ that drum set tonight. I even remembered to bring extra sticks in case they snap like last time.”

“Wise choice.”

“I thought so. Hey, did you beat that game Keigo lent you last month? What did you think?”

Small talk flows easily between them despite the Mestizo’s reticent temperament. They never talk about Ichigo’s work, though. Not due to bias or disgust, but because Chad is just old-fashioned like that. His sense of propriety would put a nun’s to shame. Ichigo respects that and doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable, so porn is just one topic they don’t discuss. It’s an aspect of their relationship he appreciates now more than ever, as it means Chad won’t be bringing up Ishida’s name anytime soon.

They shoot the breeze until their fellow bandmates emerge from backstage. Riruka plucks preemptively at her heart-shaped bass guitar as Grimmjaw fondles the microphone. Chad picks a spot on the stage to occupy and Ichigo drops onto the stool behind his drums. Believe it or not, he is glad of the barricade between him and the audience. This way chances are high no one will recognize him from a dirty movie and get distracted from the music. Camisado gets regular gigs but they’re not well-known enough to have their names and faces plastered all over posters and venue marquees. Ichigo has only been recognized from the _band_ twice since he and Chad started it in their early twenties. He has been recognized from _film_ too many times to count.

As the announcer gets the crowd going, he waves to Tatsuki just out of sight behind the stage partition. She gives him a smile and a thumbs-up. The curtain rises, the lights hit them, and the roar of a few hundred voices deafens. Ichigo’s heart gives a giddy jolt to see and hear their frenzied fans. It never fails to plaster a grin firmly across his face.

Even if it dims a little to spot a telltale shade of chartreuse at the very front of the bouncing crowd. Nel’s hazel eyes gaze forlornly up at him, only him.


	3. Emperor’s New Clothes

“Strip me, Kurosaki.”

“Huh?”

Ichigo looks up from the lines he was quadruple checking last-minute and blinks at Ishida’s serious expression. He is neatly outfitted in full costume, even holding a bow with matching quiver slung across his back. Everything except the black hood that will leave only his eyes uncovered. They are standing in the middle of a large room half-decorated as a set while the other half is taken up by filming equipment and the people tasked with operating it. Ichigo glances around for someone to explain what’s happening right now but everyone is off working on their own duties.

“Kuchiki-san’s orders.”

“…What?”

Ishida fixes him with a condescending stare so familiar by now it doesn’t stir so much as an agitated flicker anymore.

“She implied it would be prudent to ensure you could make your way through the various clasps and straps in a timely manner.”

“Rukia said I’m too dumb to get your armor off?” he simplifies for his own sake. An arched eyebrow confirms the insult. “That rude little runt!”

“Prove her wrong. Quickly, we don’t have all night.”

He throws the script into his seat and attacks the custom costume with gusto. The getup does have a lot of fasteners but he knows Rukia’s style and the way her twisted mind works. Besides, it’s a unique design but it sticks pretty close to the same types that inspired it. Historical ninja armor isn’t that complex and there’s no reason to make it more so. At least they’re dealing with panels of reinforced cloth instead of clunky metal.

When the last link keeping Ishida’s chest concealed is untied, he stops Ichigo with a loose grasp of his wrists.

“Well done, Kurosaki. You just won me two thousand yen.”

“You bet _in favor_ of me this time?” Though the stakes are lower this round.

His trademark smirk is answer enough. Ishida deftly repairs the damage to his attire and bends to pick up the same bow he shot Ichigo with last week. He feels like something else should be said but he can’t figure out what that is. Just as well since Kira, cameraman extraordinaire, shuffles over to timidly address them.

“Any last-minute questions about cues or angles before we begin?”

“I’m good.”

“What about you, Uryuu-kun?”

Before he can respond, Ichigo demands, “Why does he get to use your given name?”

“Because we’ve known each other for years. We attended the same university for undergrad.”

Kira nods in emphasis. “We were also roommates during our sophomore and junior years.”

His eyes dart between the two men. Ichigo wants to inquire on the extent of their relationship, but he doesn’t need that imagery running rampant in his head right before he’s about to nail Ishida with Kira filming the act. Speaking of, shouldn’t Urahara and Yoruichi be emerging from their cave to start the ball rolling? Ichigo is ready to get this over with.

A few minutes later, the visionary and his lioness stroll onto set. Urahara claps to get everyone’s attention and starts belaying polite orders in swift succession. A flurry of movement settles as the lights are dimmed. Ichigo approaches the scene made to resemble a traditional Japanese bedroom. Shoji screens, tatami mat, floor futon, paper lanterns, the works. He lies on the futon and pulls the thin blanket up to drape his lower half. Hanatarou, resident medic and Rukia’s assistant, hurries over to rearrange the top of his white silk yukata to look a little sleep-mussed. As soon as he’s out of the way, Ichigo shuts his eyes and Urahara calls ‘action’.

_There is a whisper of fabric as the intruder leaps through the window into the darkened room. His outline can be discerned solely by the diffuse light of a crescent moon. Blue eyes gleam from the narrow aperture of a dark cowl as he rises from a crouch to peer at the sleeping man on the other side of the space. Killing him would be effortless but he does not draw his bow. Instead, he creeps toward a lacquered ivory chest atop a low table and bends to soundlessly open it. Housed within are tall stacks of shiny gold pieces, a small fortune for any man brave enough to steal it._

_Little does the thief know that the owner of that fortune is not slumbering as deeply as presumed. The stealthy ninja stiffens to hear the ominous song of a sword being drawn behind him. He whirls and readies his weapon in one smooth motion but the blade is already pointed at the center of his chest before an arrow can be fully nocked._

“ _Disarm.” The burglar reluctantly obeys, dropping bow and quiver to the tatami beside him. “Remove your hood.”_

_This command goes unfulfilled. The samurai steps closer to yank it off and gasps at what he discovers. Recognition and betrayal shift across his features, for this is someone he knows. Someone he_ trusted _._

“ _I’ve come to claim what should be mine. You earned that gold using the skills_ my _father taught you. Where were you when he was butchered in his own dojo!?”_

“ _Where was I?” he returns, lowering his sword. “Where were_ you _? How can you blame his death on another when his son was not at his side?”_

_Rage sparks between their eyes and the ninja lunges forth, knocking the hilt from a loose grasp as he tackles the samurai. Their fall is cushioned by the futon but it goes unnoticed as a struggle ensues. The pinned man curls fingers around a vulnerable neck. He swiftly reverses their positions, refusing to be budged by the cage of strong thighs around his midriff. A warning squeeze of that delicate throat has the ninja rethinking his ferocity._

“ _Let go! I’ll kill you for abandoning my father!”_

“ _I didn’t abandon him. You did!” yells the samurai, shocking his captive into silence. “If anyone has earned the right to die this night, it is you. How dare you trespass into my home and endeavor to steal my wealth? I should steal the very breath from your lungs!”_

“ _Then do it,” he fearlessly hisses. “Take my life.”_

_They stare each other down for a tense moment. Brown eyes trail thoughtfully down the body below. He says, “It is not your life I wish to take.”_

_Surprise overtakes anger, transitioning into grim understanding laced with mirrored hunger. The thief slowly relaxes, granting permission of the trade. His life for one night of submission._

And this is the part where Ichigo begins to slip character because he is unwrapping Ishida like a present he’s been waiting to open all week. The armor comes off even faster this time and he dips down to kiss the revealed torso. There is actually no mouth-kissing scripted in this movie, which makes sense in context. They are playing former brothers-in-arms who betray each other over a lethal misinterpretation. Honor-bound to despise each other, they are nevertheless consumed by mutual lust. Not love.

Funny how the script kind of reflects his and Ishida’s rapport that way.

Still, Ichigo can kiss anywhere else he pleases and that’s just fine with him. He meanders down Ishida’s centerline, pausing to lap at his belly button, and nibbling gently at a fine trail of hair. Of course, his partner doesn’t just lie there. That would be boring. No, he is giving these subtle squirms and hushed hums of pleasure. Ichigo looks up the lithe plane of him and waits for Ishida’s gaze to find his.

“It’s too dark,” he growls against the sensitive divot of a hip. “I want to see you.”

There are two rectangular lanterns staged nearby for such a purpose. Ichigo didn’t have to rehearse lighting them with a wooden match; he manages the feat all on his own. In the meantime Ishida rises to a kneel on the rumpled futon, watching him with a darkening blush on his cheeks. That’s some inspiring method acting right there! Stepping to stand before him, Ichigo takes a sharp breath to feel the knot securing his yukata pulled free. Ishida starts to tuck the fabric aside but the audacious action is denied.

Instead, he is promptly captured from behind as Ichigo moves to envelop him in a dominant hold. The black top is stripped from his shoulders and tossed aside, away from the camera they are both facing. His hands go searching, dragging possessively across Ishida’s exposed skin. A breathy groan emerges as his head tips back to touch Ichigo’s shoulder, inviting a sucking kiss to his neck. One of his hands slides low to rub Ishida’s erection through the loose-fitting pants.

His spine snaps into a shallow arc and Ichigo is rewarded with his first taste of the man’s famed moaning capabilities. It’s one of his most lauded traits and it does not disappoint. If he wasn’t already rock hard, Ishida’s lovely voice would get him there. A grip is curled around the nape of Ichigo’s neck and another finds his wrist to encourage the leisurely stroking. The attention is gradually displacing his pants, allowing the very tip of his cock to peek from the hem. He shoves the fabric down and Ishida obligingly shifts to get them all the way off.

Ichigo looks down and bites his lip because yeah, he’s got a nice one. Linear and long like he is. Damp palm to hot flesh, Ishida’s breathing harshens more with each tight pump. He starts to slowly sway with it, up and down against Ichigo’s front. A twist of friction around the head wins a short mewl and Ishida’s skin erupts in gooseflesh. The sight twists something inside Ichigo, too, knowing it’s an involuntary reaction of genuine desire.

He withdraws to shrug out of his yukata at last. The silk pools around his knees and he can’t be bothered to fling it away like his co-star’s clothes. Not when Ishida is turning like he’s going to touch him in return. Ichigo pushes him down with his ass high in the air for unrestricted access. He smells faintly of sandalwood soap and tastes like clean skin. A rough shudder translates through the generous swipe of his tongue against Ishida’s hole. It’s mostly for show, since actors are always thoroughly prepped before every shoot in Urahara’s studio. Doesn’t mean Ichigo isn’t enjoying himself all the same.

Ishida is working hard to prove he’s in the same boat, stealing quick, hitched breaths between low moans. Fake or real, it is molten want in Ichigo’s gut and he can’t wait to work his way into the hot tunnel he is teasing. He can’t help reaching down to give his balls a gentle squeeze every so often, as well. Ishida spreads his legs a tiny bit wider in response. He’s ready, but Ichigo draws it out a bit longer for the scene’s sake. Last thing he needs is their director piping up to break the spell for extra dictation.

With a lingering lick, he eases back. Ishida is on him in an instant, rearing up to push him down. He sucks Ichigo with fervor. It is absolutely unnecessary but it’s in the script, so there you go. He won’t be griping anytime soon, seeing as Ishida is equally talented at giving head as he is at everything else. It’s Ichigo’s turn to moan and arch, and he’s not even acting!

The situation starts to become dangerous when Ishida keeps at it for a while. The archer is supposed to straddle the samurai after this, but the time frame isn’t noted in the script. No one tells him to move on, though, so Ichigo can’t say anything. It’s kind of reminiscent of that day in the training room when Ishida taunted him with a release he never intended to grant. It feels purposeful, vindictive. Like he’s testing Ichigo, or trying to make him _suffer_ in some bizarre fashion.

Eventually, he is fed up with the game and gets Ishida’s attention with a light tug to his hair. The man lets off with a deceptively dainty lap to the tip and scoots upward to mount him. Ichigo’s fingertips dig into strong thighs as he aligns them and sinks down. They stare straight into each other’s eyes for the whole process. Yumichika had to have it that way, the sentimental airhead. Hopefully the camera isn’t picking up on the rogue elements of enmity emanating from both of them.

He lets Ishida ride him for several minutes, adjusting to the shape and size of him at his own pace. They start to sweat and pant and shake from the strain of holding back when they really want to ram against each other like crazy. It makes the next position change that much more intense. Ichigo guides him to rest on his side and holds an endless leg upright against his body, pushing back into Ishida with a happy groan because now he can thrust as hard as he chooses.

Ichigo swears he’s done the equivalent of about five billion crunches in his lifetime. A few dozen more into it, he’s just getting warmed up but Ishida is at the end of his rope. He’s gripping the sheets and curling his toes and measuring Ichigo’s rhythm with increasingly helpless moans. God, he’s good! If he didn’t know better, he’d think Ishida is _this_ close to having his climax wrung out of him with one more rough snap of Ichigo’s hips.

Hmm…that could also be due to the fact that he found Ishida’s prostate pretty much as soon as they switched positions.

It wasn’t on purpose. Ichigo just happens to have that sort of blind luck when he tops men. Still, once he stumbles upon that elusive gem he can’t very well leave it unmolested. Where’s the fun in that?

“Kurosaki, stop,” he suddenly grits, setting a hand to his flexing midsection. “Time-out.”

He stops. Ishida disengages to sit up and glare at him but it is Urahara who asks the vital question.

“Something wrong, Ishida-san?”

“You could say that.” His voice is flinty and his eyebrows are irate. He tears his gaze from Ichigo to answer his director, “Ask this idiot why he’s dead-set on aiming for my prostate when he knows I’m not supposed to come until the next position!”

If he did, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. It would mean wasting about twenty minutes cleaning up and resetting the scene, however, so ejaculating off-cue is generally frowned upon.

“What, like I’m supposed to know you can’t handle it?”

“No one could handle it! It’s biologically unfeasible to withstand such a relentless attack!”

Well, the almost-doctor would know. Urahara hums in flustered agreement but Ichigo isn’t ready to accept all the blame. Plus, after everything Ishida has put him through, it’s nice to pay him back in kind. He can’t keep a spiteful smirk from his face.

“I can’t help it if my dick is designed to bump your button, Ishida.”

“Don’t pretend it was unintentional. As if you couldn’t tell I was trying to adjust for a safer angle when you kept ruining my efforts!”

“So, what if it was? Are you saying you’re not up to the challenge?”

Wrath is a beautiful color on him, too. He snarls, “Kurosaki, you—”

“Given how you love to go on about how professional you are, I don’t see what you’re complaining about. It looks more realistic this way, doesn’t it?” Ichigo addresses the crew as a whole, “You all saw how hot he looked clinging to the edge like that, right? Tensing up with these little surprised noises every time.”

In the background, someone chokes. It’s one of their newest assistants—Inoue, he thinks her name is—and blood starts dripping from her nose. Hanatarou runs over to tend the overwhelmed woman.

“ _Realism_ is not the problem,” Ishida retorts, “it’s your _attitude_.”

Ichigo sighs. “If it’s that big of a deal, I can try to avoid it but—honestly? It’s easier to hit than miss.”

While Ishida is fuming over that statement, Yoruichi sashays from the shadows with a wicked stare aimed at both of them. Her expression is made all the more terrifying with the addition of a malevolent smile.

“I don’t care how difficult it is, you two had better shut up and fuck like rabbits or you’re fired.”

Phrased that bluntly, there’s nothing for it. They gulp in unison and sullenly get back into place, back into character, back into motion.

“You can go ahead and skip to the final phase,” Urahara beneficently instructs, obviously taking pity on them. “I think we got what we needed from the last position.”

The ‘final phase’ involves Ichigo kneeling and Ishida on his back, lower half pulled into his lap. Reentering slowly, he allows a considerate pause in case their interlude forced his partner to clench back up. Entirely possible, given how angry he is, but it doesn’t happen to be the case. Ichigo reaches out to fluff him—Ishida’s nowhere near soft but it doesn’t hurt to be sure. He slaps Ichigo’s hand away on a short growl and Yoruichi clears her throat in warning.

The director calls ‘action’ and he starts to move.

Ishida’s eyes squeeze shut on a subdued groan because his prostate is nudged again from the first instant. Ichigo seriously isn’t doing it on purpose anymore but he really has to struggle not to laugh at this turn of events. He guides Ishida’s knees up near his shoulders and crouches forward to brace against the floor on either side of him. Bent in half and trapped in a flesh-and-bone cage like this, he doesn’t have much influence on the speed or angle of Ichigo’s thrusts. All he can do is grip the sheets and accept whatever he is given. Ishida can’t even glare like he wants to or the camera might catch it.

Even so, he makes it painfully clear how un-funny he finds Ichigo’s antics. Those musical moans are conspicuously absent and the set of his features is stiff. That won’t do at all. He breaks his promise, not only aiming for that inner hub of electric bliss but jabbing it as hard as he can each time. Hell, it would serve him right to lose control early and get embarrassed after throwing a stupid tantrum!

To say it gets Ishida’s attention would be an egregious understatement. His mouth falls open on a shocked exhale and the sounds he was trying to passive-aggressively keep in check come spilling out unhindered. Ichigo waits for him to spill something else, as well, but he doesn’t. Ishida just takes it. Even when the pace is doubled to goad him over the cliff, he refuses to fall. It must cost every ounce of his willpower not to give in, but he holds steady.

Ichigo stares at the reddened circle of his panting mouth and licks his lips. For whatever reason, he really wants to kiss Ishida. He can’t. He _won’t_. But he wants to.

As though reacting to Ichigo’s taboo thoughts, he subjects one of his wrists to a crushing grip. He can’t do anything about it without interrupting the scene and Ishida knows it. The expression he wears is covert but deadly. It proclaims he knows precisely what Ichigo is doing, that he will pay dearly for it later, and that he absolutely _will not win_.

And for some perverse reason, the defiance in those dark blue eyes serves as aphrodisiac for Ichigo.

His hips stutter as a ragged shiver assails him. He almost loses focus right then and there. Wouldn’t that be the epitome of cruel irony? The notion makes him reckless. An unexpected alteration to their positioning has Ishida’s arms pinned above his head. It’s unscripted but Ichigo is beyond the point of caring. Brutally bearing down on the trapped man, he almost grins to see Ishida’s eyes roll back with a desperate scrunch of his brow and a throaty moan. It’s irrefutably authentic, if none of the ones preceding it were.

Urahara whispers something. Ichigo isn’t listening, concentrating far too deeply to allot a scrap of it to anyone other than his obstinate co-star. It must be the cue to come, because that’s what Ishida does. It’s _gorgeous_. From the pitch and volume of his outcry, to the sweet agony staining his features, to the way his body quakes and rolls through powerful sensations. Ichigo doesn’t—okay, _can’t_ —wait for his cue. He chases right after Ishida’s bliss with a broken groan.

He nearly forgets there is one more line to deliver. Ichigo fights to gather his wits and the air necessary to do his god damn _job_ after that insane rush.

“You came here to claim my gold as your trophy…How does it feel now that I’ve claimed _you_ as mine?”

Urahara calls ‘cut’ and Ishida shoves him right off. Ichigo slumps to his side while his co-star wastes no time getting up to shrug on his robe. How can he gather enough energy to get off the floor that quickly? Ichigo still hasn’t caught his breath! His skin is going to be buzzing for _hours_. Yet, this jackass wants to pretend that wasn’t one of the best orgasms of his life? He isn’t expecting Ishida to pontificate about it but a tiny nod of acknowledgment would be nice.

Keigo walks over, holding his robe, and reaches a hand down to help him off the floor. There is a knowing smirk on his face but he doesn’t say a word, probably intuiting that it would only get him yelled at. Ichigo slips on the thin garment and sips on the bottle of water Mizuiro offers. He barely makes it over to his chair without stumbling. By the time he gets there, Ishida is nowhere in sight but neither Yoruichi nor Urahara seem to have noticed his exit. They’re too busy enthusing over the masterpiece they just shot.

“That was so…I have no words.”

“I know what you mean, Kisuke. I felt it, too.”

“It’s the best scene we’ve ever captured. We’re making history,” he dramatically declares. “It’ll be a must-see, an instant classic, thrill of the decade!”

Yoruichi grins in emphatic agreement. “How fast do you think production can get it finished?”

“Half the usual time, if I pay them double.”

They leer gleefully at each other and Ichigo rolls his eyes. That was great sex—some of the best he’s ever had—but they are getting way ahead of themselves if they’re expecting a smash hit on this sort of budget. He’s never seen those two so excited before; it’s kinda grossing him out.

“This calls for a celebration, don’t you think?”

“Oh, of course,” sings Urahara, flapping his fan for effect. “We’ll throw a party for the whole cast and crew!”

“Maybe we should do a sequel? Or how about that nerd-dominates-jock flick I’ve been pitching for months? You know you want to see that, Kisuke.”

The director hums appreciatively and says, “I do. I really do. And so will the fans.”

_Great_ , Ichigo thinks with a hefty sigh. He can already picture the look on Ishida’s face when they ask him.

“No. Absolutely not.”

Clear as an obnoxious bell, Ichigo hears his former co-star’s voice ring out across the room. He stops sipping cheap champagne out of a plastic flute to spot Ishida standing in front of Urahara and Yoruichi with a distinctly unenthused look on his face. Shaking his head and shifting his weight to the other foot, it’s apparent to anyone in view that he is firmly refusing whatever the director-producer duo is asking of him. Ichigo has a solid inkling he knows what it’s about and he can’t say he didn’t see this coming.

He casually moseys over to listen in.

“Don’t say that, Ishida-san,” begs Urahara in that infuriatingly sanguine tone he loves to wield like his favorite weapon. “You haven’t even seen the script yet.”

“The premise is irrelevant, as I have already explained.”

Perking up with a new idea, Yoruichi proposes, “What if we add twenty percent?”

Ishida crosses his arms and glances aside as he replies, “Money isn’t the issue, either.”

“It’s me, isn’t it?” asks Ichigo, stepping forward to join the debate. “You don’t want to work with me again, huh? Scared you’ll get addicted?”

His surprised expression turns spiteful in an instant. “Go away, Kurosaki. This doesn’t concern you.”

“Uh, pretty sure it does since I already signed on to the project.”

“Then find another co-star who can tolerate your unprofessionalism!”

“You’re throwing a tantrum in the middle of a cast party and _I’m_ unprofessional?” The ice in his glare nearly makes Ichigo shiver. It’s too easy to poke at Ishida’s soft spots but that won’t exactly get them anywhere. “Look, I’ve worked with a lot of actors and you’re honestly one of the best. I can’t think of anyone else who’d fit this part better than you.”

The admission thaws a tiny fraction of his frigid demeanor—enough to keep him from storming off, at least—and Urahara nods in avid agreement.

“Well said, Kurosaki-san. The film simply won’t be what it could without you in it. Please reconsider, Ishida-san?”

“My offer of a hefty bonus stands,” Yoruichi adds, just in case. “I’ll even throw in a few on-set amenities if you get your cute little ass back on our cast list.”

Ichigo can tell he’s getting frustrated with the three of them haranguing him, so he says, “Think about it, all right? For now, let’s enjoy the party. By the way, Yumichika was asking for you, Urahara-san.”

He points to the employee in question, talking to Ikkaku while leaning beside the floor-length window overlooking a lighted pool outside, and quirks his eyebrows at Yoruichi to hint that she should beat it, too. They know Ichigo wants to shoot this flick almost as much as they do, so they decide to trust him and wander away as directed. Once they’re out of earshot, he turns to Ishida and gives him an assessing once-over. The only helpful observation Ichigo makes is that he doesn’t seem to have had any alcohol all night, which could be contributing to his prickly disposition.

“Can I get you a drink?”

“It’s an open bar,” Ishida flatly points out. “Unless you’re offering to fetch one for me like an awkward prom date?”

Rolling his eyes, Ichigo downs the rest of his tepid champagne and retorts, “Just hurry up and tell me what you want. I’m going for a refill anyway.”

“I don’t drink.” Hmm. Well, that is fairly rare in this line of work. Or any line of work, really. When he keeps staring while waiting for an actual answer, Ishida sighs and relents, “Club soda.”

Ichigo nods to acknowledge his order and goes to get it filled at the bar.

The venue Yoruichi reserved for the event is a moderately classy lounge he has been to a few times before. It may not be his number one nightlife destination but it’s not bad, which is fortunate since most of the fancier places around the city aren’t keen on hosting ‘porno people’, as one particularly snooty hostess had once labeled them. Noting about four or five couples intently making out in full view of the busy space, Ichigo can’t really hold their somewhat valid biases against them. Nobody’s screwing in public or anything—that he’s aware of—but it wouldn’t be the most shocking situation he’s stumbled upon at these sorts of soirees.

The bartender hands over his fresh bubbly and Ishida’s soda, taken with a word of thanks. It’s a sentiment that isn’t duplicated when Ichigo returns to deliver his prom date’s drink. But Ishida sips it with an air of being refreshed, so he’ll take what he can get.

“I’m surprised you came,” Ichigo admits. “The way you ran off after our last set, I wondered if you might’ve fled the country.”

“When I’m inclined to vomit, I tend to prefer privacy,” he darkly mutters against the lip of his glass.

“Yeah, right. Don’t even try to pretend we didn’t rock each other’s worlds, Ishida.”

It was more than two weeks ago but Ichigo’s memory of that spectacular orgasm hasn’t faded one bit. Neither has the enticing image of Ishida’s awestruck face as he rode out every enrapturing wave of pleasure they coaxed from each other. Who the hell does he think he’s fooling?

Regardless of the truth in Ichigo’s assertion, he scowls and deflects, “I only came because Lisa wanted to attend but didn’t care to show up by herself. She has these oddly old-fashioned principles sometimes…”

“Sure, blame it on your agent,” he can’t help teasing. “It had nothing to do with the fact that you knew I’d be here.”

At his limit for enduring such bold-faced attempts at getting a rise out of him, Ishida sets his jaw and starts to go anywhere else but Tatsuki chooses that moment to stroll over and say, “Nice to see you again, Ishida.”

“Arisawa-san,” he cordially greets. “If you’ll excuse me, I was just leaving.”

“Oh, I was hoping to hear what you thought of the new script.”

“He hasn’t read it,” Ichigo tattles, “but he already turned it down.”

“Really?” she asks, eyeing Ishida in undisguised curiosity. “I figured you’d jump at the chance for payback.”

“Payback?” That gets his interest. “What do you mean?”

Pulling out her phone, Tatsuki opens a digital version of the script Yoruichi emailed earlier that week and shows him the key scene. Ichigo fights back a smirk and watches the man’s reactions closely as he reads. The plot is based off a preexisting idea but it was edited with the two of them in mind, including their real-life borderline-hostile social dynamic. When he said he couldn’t think of a better actor for the part, he meant it.

“This is…” Ishida looks up from the screen to bemusedly appraise him. “Kurosaki, you _want_ me to take this role?”

He does. He really, really does but he’s not about to beg for it or anything.

“Why not? It’ll be hot.”

His mouth parts in speechless shock. Then he regroups, quietly clears his throat, and claims, “I guess I just didn’t figure you as the type to be into this kind of thing.”

“Usually, I’m not.” Taking a chance at getting him to blush, Ichigo winks and flirts, “For you, I’ll make an exception.”

Ishida frowns again as he hands Tatsuki’s phone back, but his cheeks do indeed flood with a pale pink indication of embarrassment so Ichigo calls it a ‘win’, even though he tries to pass it off as anger.

“You’re the biggest idiot I’ve ever met. No offense, Arisawa-san,” he amends, showing her a slightly less aggravated expression. “You must have the patience of a saint to put up with him so often.”

“Not really,” Ichigo grumbles with a sideways glance at her. “She works it out by kicking my ass on a regular basis.”

“Feel free to follow my example,” she cheerfully endorses, making him yelp and swear by jabbing an elbow into his ribs.

“I might have to take your advice on that.”

Brown eyes widen and lock with blue. “Does that mean you’ll sign on?”

“I…” Ishida avoids his gaze and fidgets with his glasses to stall for time. “It isn’t entirely out of the question.”

“Translation: it’s extremely likely.” Three pairs of eyes swivel to find the new arrival’s. Lisa’s face is eerily impassive as she greets, “Hello, Tatsuki-chan. Ichigo.”

“Y-yo,” he answers while Tatsuki mutely waves. He’s never met anyone so casual yet stoic at the same time and his inability to read her even a tiny bit is vaguely unsettling. “So, you really did make Ishida come to the party?”

“I don’t do public functions without an escort.”

“Ah. I see.” But he genuinely doesn’t. Ichigo shoots her friend a questioning look and gets a shrug in response. “Anyway, what makes you think he’s gonna say ‘yes’ when we all know ‘no’ is his favorite word?”

Ishida takes a breath to gripe but chokes on his air instead to hear Lisa share, “You’re one of Uryuu’s favorite actors. He’s seen all of your films.”

“Th-that was for research!” he shrilly dissents. “I always research the people I work with!”

“True,” Lisa thoughtfully agrees, unaffected by his outburst, “but you’ve been ‘researching’ Ichigo ever since—”

Sealing a palm across her lips, Ishida successfully silences her in time. But then she yanks his wrist down, twists his arm behind his back, and snakes one of hers across his chest to hold him captive.

“Lisa!” he complains, though he doesn’t attempt to escape from her clutches.

“How many times have I told you secrets only lead to suffering?” Now he struggles, but she merely increases the pressure on his bent elbow until he settles in defeat. “I’m sick of hearing you whine, so tell him and be done with it.”

“What’s she talking about?” Ichigo has to ask. He’s becoming more confused by the moment and the uncomfortable pinch to Ishida’s features makes him want to pull Lisa off whether or not he has any right to intervene. They’re basically siblings, after all, and this is so far beyond his purview.

“Nothing,” he snaps but his agent still won’t let him go. His frustration peaks and he tells Lisa, “Fine! If you want me to say it that bad, I will.” Dragging his gaze up to confront Ichigo’s, he haltingly confesses, “I-I used to believe I wanted to act with you…before I had the misfortune to actually _meet you_.”

“And?” Lisa mercilessly prompts.

His cheeks flood with color as he says in a rush, “And you’re half the reason I got into this business, okay? Now, let go!”

In the handful of seconds it takes for her to release her hold and him to head for the nearest exit, Ichigo’s thoughts race. Ishida has been featuring in movies almost as long as he has, which means he was inspired by Ichigo’s earlier and less refined acting skills. It also means Ishida has been sort of looking up to him as a role model for years. Before that, he is— _was_ —a fan just like Ichigo was his. Then their stupid egos clashed and made a mess out of what could’ve been a very good thing.

Suddenly, Ichigo feels like the dumbest jerk in existence.

“Ishida, wait!”

He starts to dash after the man but Lisa stops him with a vise-like grip to his shoulder and leans close for a confidential exchange.

“This is the part where you mend broken bridges with Uryuu, rather than take advantage of his vulnerability to hurt him.” Peering past his eyes straight into his soul, she resembles something evil and otherworldly as she threatens, “Otherwise, you and I are going to have a long chat about why it’s important not to hurt people. Understand?”

“Yeah,” he hastily confirms. “Totally.”

First Rukia, Yoruichi, Tatsuki, and now Lisa—Why are most of the women in Ichigo’s life so fucking _terrifying_?

He shakes it off as he runs after Ishida, catching up to him in a stairwell leading out to the parking lot.

Seeing Ichigo gearing up to speak, he cuts in first. “Fair warning, Kurosaki: if you followed me so you could rub it in my face, I might actually murder you.”

“Of course I didn’t,” he objects, insulted. “I’m not a complete asshole.”

“Wow, you really fooled me.”

Resisting the urge to snipe back, Ichigo bites his tongue and mentally throttles himself over all those times he purposely pissed Ishida off for a cheap laugh.

“Whatever. Listen, can we…” He rubs his face in frustration when he fails to come up with a promising plan to fix those bridges Lisa mentioned. “Can I buy you a coffee or something?”

Scoffing with a critical look tossed over his shoulder, Ishida informs him, “It’s minutes to midnight.”

“Chamomile tea, then, I don’t give a shit. I just wanna talk this out, all right?”

“Fuck off.”

He reaches for the door once they make the lower landing but Ichigo bars an arm across it to get his full attention and request, “At least give me thirty god damn minutes? Please, Ishida.”

Some of the wrath slowly fades from the surface as he stares hard at Ichigo for a tense moment.

“Fifteen minutes and I pick the location.”

“Deal,” Ichigo automatically consents, brightening in pleasant surprise. He really wasn’t expecting Ishida to give him the time of day—night—whatever. “My car is this way.”


	4. New Perspective

Ichigo pulls into his usual spot in the parking garage and shuts off the engine. He gets out of one machine and into another, jabbing a button that will take the elevator to his floor. All he wants to do is shuffle into his apartment and collapse onto his couch because the bedroom is too far away. It’s been a long day, he thinks with a light sigh, and it’s not over yet.

As if the universe is eager to prove him right, he balks in the hallway to find Nel seated against his door. At least she’s on the _outside_ of it this time.

She stands to scamper off when she sees him and Ichigo wearily says, “Night, Nel,” as she passes by.

“Goodnight, Ichigo!”

The instant his door is shut and locked, Ishida arches an intrigued eyebrow. “Friend of yours?”

“Um…” Musing over that for a second, he kicks off his shoes and drops his keys into their designated dish before replying, “Something like that, I guess.”

But Ichigo isn’t keen to get into the convoluted situation with his long-term stalker when he’s still wrapping his head around the fact that Ishida chose _his apartment_ as the place to have their little heart-to-heart. Now his gaze is sweeping all over, silently cataloguing and analyzing like a naïve android. Except he doesn’t look like a cold, soulless robot fresh from the factory. Standing in Ichigo’s apartment with his guard lowered by innate curiosity, he looks like _fair game_ and the instinct to switch over into ‘seduction mode’ is strong.

Ishida catches him staring. “What?”

“Nothing. I was just wondering if you’re doing that genius thing.” At his blank look, Ichigo elaborates, “Y’know, that thing where you glance around and learn everything about me based on the stuff I own and how it’s arranged.”

“Oh, _that_ genius thing.” He nods patronizingly. “Yes, that’s what I’m doing. It’s why I had you bring me here. All part of my nefarious scheme to utterly destroy you in ways you’ll never see coming.”

It takes him a minute to realize Ishida is _joking_. Albeit in a dry, wickedly deadpan style that isn’t funny as much as impressively clever. Geniuses, man…And Ichigo is generally out of his league when it comes to anything other than sports, socializing, or sex but he gets the feeling there isn’t much Ishida can’t handle with a bit of mental effort.

“Kitchen’s that way,” he announces with a gesture in its direction. “Help yourself to whatever while I change clothes. Bathroom’s down the hall if you need it.”

A couple of minutes in his room and Ichigo is feeling much more comfortable in soft lounge pants and a sleeveless shirt. As he makes his way back out to the living room, he tries not to let his mind spin with all the questions and possibilities Ishida’s presence here is creating. Habits and his own hormones are anticipating playtime to follow but the air between them suggests there may never be a round two in their futures—no matter how much Ichigo is _dying_ to get with him again. Who wouldn’t?

Ishida is seated cozily on the sofa with a steaming mug of tea when he emerges. Taking the spot at the opposite end of his three-seater, Ichigo takes a breath and scrabbles for something remotely close to the right words.

“I’ll make this easy for you, Kurosaki,” he abruptly says and takes a testing sip. “Tell me you can be professional the second time around and I’ll seriously consider signing on to Urahara-san’s next project.”

Business first, as usual. Of course Ishida wants to gloss right over the whole ‘you’re the reason I became a porn star’ revelation.

“I can, and you definitely should. I’d love to do that script with you.” His eyelashes flutter in understated astonishment. Yes, Ichigo can be polite and diplomatic when he tries. It’s nothing to gawk about, damn it. “But I want to ask you something.”

Saying Ishida seems hesitant to hear the question doesn’t quite cover it. “Ask but I won’t promise to answer.”

“Funny,” he comments with a short huff of laughter, “that’s the same thing Lisa told me when she introduced herself as your agent. After tonight, I’d say she’s more like your boss.”

He makes a sour face that isn’t aimed at Ichigo for a change. “Lisa can be overbearing on occasion but she means well.”

“Is that why she bullied you into admitting I’m ‘one of your favorite actors’?”

Ishida shyly turns his head away, letting his hair hide most of his face as he mumbles, “I was young and impressionable back then.”

_You still are_ , Ichigo thinks with a covert smirk. Another thought has him sobering to say, “I still don’t get what she was saying about secrets and suffering, though.”

“Oh, look at the time,” Ishida notes with a staged glance at his cell phone’s screen. “Your fifteen minutes are up.”

The wily bastard sets his mug on the table and moves to rise but Ichigo pulls him back down. “No, you don’t. We both know I can ask Tatsuki to find out from Lisa but I’d rather hear it from you. I swear I won’t laugh, okay? I really won’t, so just tell me.”

“All right,” he snaps, knocking Ichigo’s grip loose and scooting toward the opposite arm rest for good measure. “The huge, scandalous secret is I was kind of looking forward to meeting you and then you turned out to be this,” gesturing vaguely at him on the whole, Ishida exasperatedly continues, “this lackluster caricature of who I’d envisioned and I was disappointed to discover the reality is less than awe-inspiring. That’s all.”

“Wow, Ishida, that’s super fucking harsh don’t ya think?”

Reacting to Ichigo’s defensive retort with equal defensiveness of his own, Ishida’s irritation begins to swell as he demands, “Well, how would you feel if someone you’ve admired for years shows up late to meet you looking like a homeless person and proceeds to argue over every single thing you say?”

Hearing him admit he admired Ichigo goes a long way toward banking the fire he’s so used to fighting when they’re together. It keeps him from immediately mouthing off like he normally would and forces him to think before he barks. Just as Rukia said that day, he didn’t bring his A-game to meet Ishida, which could be construed as offensively negligent. But Ichigo isn’t willing to take all the blame when he made efforts to extend an olive branch once he’d realized his mistake—and Ishida whacked him with it!

“You’re not the only one who was looking forward to that meeting, dumbass. I really respected your work, too, and I was stoked to shoot a movie with you. Then you were all short-tempered and snarky to me while being so friendly and charismatic to everyone else and I…” Ichigo trails off when it occurs to him that he’s divulging more about his inner turmoil than he’d prefer. “Anyway, I think we should forget about all that shit and just start over.”

“Start over?”

“Yeah. As in, ‘hi, I’m Kurosaki Ichigo, nice to meet you’ and you’ll be like…”

He lifts his eyebrows expectantly until Ishida obligingly takes the cue to say, “Ishida Uryuu. Likewise,” but not without a condescending tone and a subtle roll of his eyes.

“Great. And this time when I call you ‘Uryuu’—”

“I’ll still ask you to stick with ‘Ishida’” he quickly finishes before—God forbid!—any of the emotional distance between them is lost.

“Ugh. Fine, you overly formal freak.”

A stifling hush swoops in to swallow them up. They’re both squirming in that disconcerting free-fall of ‘how do we fit?’ now that they’ve overhauled their entire relationship in the span of one unassuming conversation. Ichigo didn’t mend any bridges but more like burned the entire board and made a brand new one. Or tried to. The way Ishida is avoiding his eyes doesn’t bode well for making all of this stick.

Checking his phone again, he breaks the silence with, “I really do need to go now. Lisa is waiting to pick me up so I can take her home.”

“Oh.” He probably drove them to the party in his own car and Ichigo never thought to ask. “Okay.”

Walking Ishida to the door, he pauses uncertainly when asked, “What was your question earlier?”

Honestly? Ichigo can’t remember because he’s got a different set of questions flicking excitedly through his brain like pages in a book, so he goes with the first thing that jumps to the forefront.

“Wanna get dinner sometime?”

His stunned deer-in-headlights look only lasts a second. Then a small smile teases at the corners of his lips and Ishida graciously declines, “Sorry, but I don’t date co-workers.”

The final note of Camisado’s newest song fades. Everyone waits until they get the green light from their recording technician on the other side of the soundproof window, meaning their latest take was a success. Ichigo sets down his sticks to rub at his sore shoulders and neck. They’ve been recording for hours in the interest of making a solid demo album before prime concert season starts up. Rather than in stores or online, most of their CD sales come from merch booths at their concerts, which is why it’s so important to have everything ready ahead of time.

“Goddess, I’m starving,” gripes Riruka as she flexes feeling back into her fingertips. The way she’s been shredding on that bass guitar, he’s surprised they’re not bleeding. “Sado, you’re coming with me to get food.”

She sets down her instrument and leaves the recording booth without a backward glance, but Chad lovingly places his guitar in its velvet-lined case and obediently follows.

“Hey, get something for our guest vocalist and me, would ya?” Ichigo requests before he’s out of earshot.

Chad gives him a quick thumbs-up as Grimmjaw adds, “Yeah, and don’t forget my grub, either.”

They won’t be long, Ichigo knows, because they only have so much time in the studio and there are still a few songs that need to be fine-tuned. He goes just outside the booth to sit on a convenient couch beside the aforementioned vocal artist who has been gracious enough to help spice up some of their tracks.

“What do you think, Rangiku-san? Any better than the last time you joined us?”

“Oh, definitely,” she affirms with a blithe smile. “I can hear a difference in the way Riruka-chan and Sado-kun riff off each other now. It works well with your high-energy beats and Grimm’s raw style. You guys have made a lot of progress as a team!”

Grinning under her sincere praise, Ichigo says, “Thanks. We’ve been practicing a lot more this year.”

“It’s paying off.” Rangiku shifts sideways on the cushion to face him fully as she prompts, “So, what have you been up to these days? I feel like we haven’t talked in forever!”

“Just keeping busy, I guess. Recently finished a film with an actor I’m hoping to see for the next one, too, if he doesn’t change his mind.”

“Who would turn down a chance like that?” she shamelessly flirts.

“You’ve probably heard of him, actually. The name ‘Ishida Uryuu’ ring any bells?”

“Uryuu-kun!? You’re kidding!”

“Uh…” tries Ichigo, derailed by her immediate and vehement response. “You know him?”

“Do I ever.” A salacious smirk curls into place as Rangiku spills, “I did a goofy little flick with him once, years ago.” She also used to do porn once in a while, which is how Ichigo originally met her. “Cutest co-star I’ve ever had! Lovely voice, too. I’m surprised you haven’t asked him to collaborate on a song or two.”

“Ishida sings?”

Rangiku giggles at his flabbergasted expression and assures, “He sure does—or he did. I’m not sure whether he’s still into it much anymore. It’d be a shame if he isn’t, though.” Eyes drifting wistfully upward, she sighs happily at some pleasant memory. “What a sexy, mature singing voice for such a skinny guy.”

Mulling over that revelation for a moment, Ichigo wonders, “Wait, why haven’t I seen the movie you did with him?”

“Because it wasn’t a ‘movie’ as much as a fun weekend project. I think I’ve still got it linked to my blog…” She fishes out her phone from an expensive-looking purse and pokes at it for a moment. Handing it to Ichigo with a video clip open on-screen and ready to play, she says, “The final cut only ran about thirteen minutes. You can watch it while I nag your lead singer about his smoking habit.”

A glance across the room confirms that Grimmjaw is puffing on a cigarette beside an open window, much to the nearby technician’s chagrin. Ichigo shakes his head, knowing it won’t do any good. He has tried to convince his ex to quit so many times he’s lost count. Rather than await a conclusion he knows is inevitable, he pulls out a pair of earbuds and concentrates on the hidden gem Rangiku revealed.

_A buxom woman sits alone at a broad table in a room lined with bookcases. She absently twirls a golden lock of long hair around one finger as she enjoys the novel laid out in front of her. Soon a handsome, bespectacled young man approaches to address her._

“ _Pardon me, miss, but the library is closing.”_

A startled laugh erupts from Ichigo when he grasps the premise in an instant. “No. Freaking. Way.” He almost wants to call Ishida right then and tease the hell out of him for actually having played a ‘sexy librarian’ character, but Ichigo doesn’t have his number.

“ _Aw, can’t I just stay for a few more minutes? I’m sooo curious to see how this chapter ends!”_

“ _I-I’m sorry,” the librarian stammers, strongly affected by the woman’s considerable charm. “You really do need to leave.”_

“ _The scene is really getting good and now I have to stop in the middle?” she laments with a disappointed pout. “How would you feel if someone ruined your fun right before the big finish?”_

Ichigo chuckles to himself, seeing where they’re headed. Who wrote this cheesy, unimaginative script?

“ _I really am sorry but it wouldn’t be fair to the other patrons if I made an exception.”_

_The woman’s pout slowly turns predatory as she considers the timid employee. She gracefully rises from her chair and sneakily maneuvers to trap him between the table and her curvaceous body. Lifting an arm to trail one dainty finger down his chest, she summons a sultry persona designed to incapacitate._

“ _Not even if I did something really nice for you in exchange?” He sucks in a sharp breath and stiffens to feel her gently palming him through his slacks. “Oh, my…You’re a big boy after all, huh?”_

Yeah, he is, Ichigo inwardly agrees as he shifts slightly in his seat. Lame writing aside, this piece isn’t entirely without merit or he wouldn’t be in danger of popping a boner in the middle of an active studio.

“ _Miss, please don’t—”_

“ _Don’t what, honey?” she taunts, massaging more firmly and grazing her luscious lips along the line of his jaw._

_He tightly grips the edge of the table she pushes him to perch atop, meekly objecting, “Touching there is…i-inappropriate for the workplace.”_

Again, Ichigo can’t help being highly amused because that seems like something Ishida would say in real life if his workplace didn’t _require_ ‘inappropriate touching’.

“ _It feels so good, doesn’t it?”_

“ _Yes! But…”_

_The rest of his sentence goes unsaid, replaced with a soft moan when the stubborn patron kisses him deeply. Her hands set to the task of undoing his fly to draw out his growing erection and give it some proper attention. Tight strokes coax it to full potential before she breaks the kiss to kneel between his legs._

Ichigo clears his throat, projecting an aura of nonchalance, and gives the room a cursory check to reassure himself that no one is going to catch him getting hot and bothered after watching five minutes of amateur porn. It’s just that the image of Ishida being so submissive and easily overwhelmed by pleasure seriously sounds like his idea of the best night ever.

_The gorgeous woman takes him deeper and sucks harder by the second, easily driving the repressed man crazy with her talented mouth. The way his breathing turns ragged and his knuckles go white tell her he’s getting close. Right before he can release, she pulls away with a wet smack and smirks wickedly up at him._

“ _No, please don’t stop,” he begs with a desperate lilt, panting quietly from the close call._

“ _What will you do for me if I don’t?”_

“ _Y-you can stay in the library as late as you like.”_

“ _Is that all?”_

_Not expecting her to raise the ante, he hesitantly asks, “What else do you want?”_

_Standing to kiss a trail up his throat, she hums thoughtfully and boldly replies, “You. Inside me. Now.”_

“ _Okay.” The young man nods eagerly and returns the kiss she presses to his lips. “Yes, I think I can manage that.”_

Then Rangiku’s character hops up to spread out on the table and the last four or five minutes of video consist of them going at it like college kids strung out on too much ecstasy. Ichigo taps the app closed once it’s over and just about jumps out of his skin to see Rangiku hovering behind him, bent forward to peer over his shoulder. He plucks out his earbuds when she starts to speak.

“That was a _very_ fun day on set,” she shares with no shortage of carnal enthusiasm. “At the tender age of twenty-three, he lasted more than half an hour. I came three times!” Another wistful sigh corroborates her claims. “Uryuu-kun really knows how to use that pretty cock of his to full effect.”

“Yeah?” Ichigo bites his lip in a mixture of longing and regret. “I was hoping to find out but we didn’t exactly hit it off when we first met. I get the feeling he might pass up Urahara’s next project rather than work with me again.”

Stepping over to plop onto the sofa, Rangiku bluntly asks, “What did you do?”

The fact that she assumes it’s his fault—and that it mostly _is_ his fault—kinda irks Ichigo but he shrugs it off. “We had a difference of opinion. Well, more like a series of ‘em. But we finally worked it out last week. Sort of.”

“I can put in a good word for you,” she eagerly offers, reclaiming her phone. “I think I still have his current number.”

“Nah, that’s—”

“Who are you calling?” Riruka wants to know as soon as she walks in carrying two bags of takeout. Chad’s toting twice as many but he’d never think to protest the disparity. “We just got everyone sandwiches, by the way—and you’d better pay me back, Kurosaki.”

Grinning maniacally, Rangiku coos, “Aw, do you still have that old crush, Riruka-chan?”

“What!? No, I—Don’t change the subject! Who were you two just gossiping about?”

“Ishida Uryuu-kun~,” she admits in a sing-song voice. Geez, that young stud must’ve really nailed her g-spot or something because he has rarely heard Rangiku use that sickly-sweet tone to talk about anybody. “Ichigo’s former and future co-star.”

“Future?” grunts Grimmjaw, rejoining them at the mention of food. “Thought you said he hated your ass.”

“I said _I_ hated _him_ ,” Ichigo grumpily corrects, “but that was before we hashed it out, so whatever.”

“And I was just saying how great a singer he is, so Ichigo should invite him to feature on one of your tracks.”

“He sings?” Riruka breathes with eyes flared and fists clenched. “Kurosaki, if you don’t ask him I will _never_ forgive you.”

He can practically picture her beating him to a bloody pulp with her bass. Damn, fangirls are scary!

“Look, it’s not like we’re best friends now. I don’t even have his contact info.”

“I’ll send it to you,” chirps Rangiku and sets her thumbs tapping straight to it.

Ichigo’s phone buzzes in his pocket and he stifles an exasperated groan. It’s not that he’s against the possibility of Ishida guest starring on their album or anything. It’s just that he can’t bear to ask when the last time they spoke ended with Ichigo getting rejected for a date. Ishida would probably assume he was making another pass at him by using his own band as an excuse. Maybe he can safely broach the subject after their next film, if they actually get to shoot it.

“Do it, Deathberry. Or else.”

Turning to see Grimm giving him a dark glower, Ichigo suppresses a shiver and swallows against the collective violence surrounding him right now.

“God, _fine_ , you lunatics. I’ll ask him, okay? So, stop giving me shit about it and let’s get this CD done.”

Thankfully, they drop the tricky topic for the time being.

After the recording session, Ichigo steps into the empty hall while everyone else is chatting and patting themselves on the back for how amazingly they played together. Instead of indulging in that platonic circle-jerk, he calls Tatsuki for a couple of quick questions.

“Hey,” he greets when she picks up on the third ring. “Did you ever ask Lisa about what genres of music Ishida listens to?”

There’s no point in asking him to sing for them if he doesn’t even dig their jam.

“ _Yep. Not only does he like a fairly wide range of music, but she said he’s been a fan of Camisado’s for years. Didn’t I tell you this already?_ ”

“Uh, no.”

If she had, Ichigo wouldn’t be blinking at nothing in particular while riding out a potent surge of pride.

“ _Oh. Well, he is. Lisa said he’s got every EP you guys ever released. He’s even been to a concert or two._ ”

No. Fucking. Way. “Are you serious?”

“ _It’s not quite April Fool’s Day yet, so yeah_.” Her laughter translates warmly through the digital connection. “ _Why don’t you ask him yourself next month? You’ll be seeing him on set, according to Yoruichi-san._ ”

“Holy shit.”

Another hearty laugh precedes her response. “ _I knew you’d say that_. _They just got confirmation this afternoon. I was actually about to call and tell you the good news._ ”

“Thanks, Tatsuki.”

Once the call is ended, Ichigo stares blankly at his phone’s home screen and the little notification of a new message from Rangiku. He can totally call Ishida right now and—No, that would be a mistake. If Ichigo’s going to get anywhere with him, he has to be crafty. It’ll take a lot more than his usual caliber of charisma to win Ishida over after their rocky beginning. But he’s starting to recognize that he absolutely wants to, even if his ultimate goal remains open to interpretation.

Rubbing idly at his aching deltoid, he wonders if Ishida is any good at giving shoulder massages.

Then his bandmates start shuffling out of the office and Rangiku asks him, “Do you mind driving me home?”

“Sure,” he says and tilts his head toward the far stairwell. As they start walking, Ichigo figures it won’t hurt to pick her brain a bit since she knows Ishida so well and all. “What was he like when you did the shoot with him?”

“Uryuu-kun? He was a total sweetheart.” Ichigo nods because he expected as much but frowns because it’s more evidence Ishida really does dislike him specifically. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” he fibs and holds the door open for her to step outside first. “Just curious.”

He forgets sometimes how much of a ditz Rangiku _isn’t_ , despite how she acts. One peek at his expression has her calling, “Bullshit. What’s really on your mind?”

Ichigo doesn’t answer until they slide into his car and he gets the engine warming. “It’s gonna sound so pathetic.”

“Try me.”

“I don’t know, I just…” Relaxing on the headrest, he sighs and shuts his eyes against the embarrassment of confessing, “He doesn’t treat me the way he treats everyone else and it bugs me sometimes.” All of the time, if he’s painfully honest. He glances over to gauge Rangiku’s reaction but she’s a blank slate. “It’s like I’m the one person he’s gotta keep at arm’s length no matter what. Even after we called the truce, he’s so fucking hard to read.”

“Seems like you’ve got a thing for him,” she observes with a giddy grin. “You should ask him out.”

“I did. He said he doesn’t date co-workers.”

“Oh-ho!”

“What?” he prods when her eyes light up in epiphany. “You think he just said it to shut me up?”

Shaking her head, Rangiku asserts, “It’s true he hasn’t gone out with any fellow actors I’ve heard about, but the fact that he gave you a reason instead of saying ‘hell no’ proves he likes you.”

“Think so?” Ichigo skeptically asks. “You haven’t seen the way he glares at me.”

“If I know anything about Uryuu-kun, it’s how kind-hearted he is underneath all that cool composure. Plus, Lisa-chan once told me he was raised by a judgmental bastard of a father, so he instinctively avoids showing vulnerability around other men. It makes perfect sense that the more strongly he feels about you, the meaner he’ll want to act so you won’t catch on. I’d bet money on it.”

Considering how mean Ishida has been in the past, that would suggest he’s very fond of Ichigo indeed.

The notion is so absurd he can’t help laughing it off. “Sorry, Rangiku-san, but I’m ninety-nine percent sure you’d lose that bet.”

She whacks him upside the back of his skull to curb his amusement at her expense. “You asked for my opinion, didn’t you? Either way, if you want him to treat you better the easiest method is to treat him better _first_.”

Well, she’s not wrong there. On the other hand, Ishida has a habit of throwing all his peaceful overtures right back in his face.

“Yeah,” Ichigo belatedly agrees and starts driving. “Guess I’ll see.”

They travel most of the way to Rangiku’s loft just listening to the radio. Yet, as he gets close to her street, she is apparently still ruminating on their previous conversation topic.

“When was the last time you were in a serious relationship, Ichigo?”

“It’s been a while,” he wryly admits. “Probably back in college.”

From the corner of his eye, he can see Rangiku’s eyes narrow and her mouth pucker in solemn contemplation. “Why didn’t it work out?”

“She didn’t approve of my career choice.” In spite of the sobering atmosphere, he smirks as he points out, “Not many people are fine with their lover loving others for a living. Just ask Yumichika.” Rangiku laughs softly in unspoken agreement. “Besides, she wanted to have a kid right out of college and I wasn’t ready for that kind of responsibility when I was pretty sure I wasn’t even gonna graduate.”

“I always thought it was ironic that the job you took to pay for college wound up being the main reason you dropped out.”

Shrugging—and hiding the wince his overused muscles cause—Ichigo can’t say he regrets the decision in hindsight. “Between that and starting the band with Chad, I didn’t see much point in finishing undergrad just to do four more years in med school. I mean, I know it’s not realistic to think I can make a lifelong career out of either but it made sense to go with my gut at the time.”

Again, the discussion lapses until he parks outside of her building. Rather than saying goodnight and getting out of the car right away, she gazes out the passenger side window for a moment before whirling around to announce, “I have an idea!”

“What is it?” he cautiously asks. Rangiku being this excited usually leads to notoriously bad ideas.

“How about I invite Uryuu-kun over and then the three of us can have our own little casual get-together? We can order delivery from this fantastic Italian restaurant around the corner and drink lots of wine—”

“Ishida doesn’t drink, or so he told me at the cast party.”

“Yes, but I can be persuasive,” she reminds with a wink. As if Ichigo needs reminding when he just watched her acting out a very ‘persuasive’ scene that fits her real-life personality too well. “Anyway, the only reason he doesn’t drink in public is because he’s a total lush. Low tolerance means no inhibitions means we can have our way with him as long as he doesn’t sober up too fast.”

Impressed and a tiny bit worried, he says, “You are so devious. I see what you’re really after, y’know.”

Rangiku plays innocent with widened eyes and a clueless tone. “What’s that?”

“A hot threesome in your king-sized bed.”

She bursts into delighted laughter. “Aw, damn. You know me too well! Can’t blame a girl for trying…”

No, he really can’t. Mirroring her sassy smile, Ichigo allows, “Maybe later. I think I’ll start with friendly conversation and make my way up to inviting Ishida over for group sex.”

“Suit yourself.” Rangiku reaches for the door handle but pauses to suggest, “Wanna come upstairs and have some fun, just you and me? I’ll take care of the tension in your shoulders…and anywhere else you’re feeling stiff.”

“Next time,” he promises and leans in to seal it with a kiss.

“Only have eyes for Uryuu-kun, eh? You’re so smitten,” she teases, succeeding in triggering a faint blush. Stepping out of the car, she bends forward to cheer, “Good luck!”

Whether she’s being sarcastic or not, Ichigo says, “Thanks,” as he waves goodbye.


	5. The Good, the Bad, and the Dirty

“ _Stop looking at me,” complains the varsity student who got saddled with the dorkiest university-allotted dorm roommate ever. “I hate seeing those creepy-ass glasses glaring in my direction.”_

“ _I was looking out the window,” he snottily retorts and pokes his clunky black plastic-framed glasses back up the narrow bridge of his nose. “Frankly, I’d rather stare at the ceiling for hours on end than have to look at you a second longer than necessary.”_

_Roughly flipping a page in the textbook laid open on his lap, he snarks right back, “Yeah, whatever. I saw you watching me last night when I got back from the showers.”_

“ _That’s true. I was watching the way you were dripping water all over the place because you couldn’t be bothered to dry off in the bathroom a little before lumbering in to drench our room like a stupid, shaggy dog.”_

“ _Deny it all you want, egghead, but I know you’ve got the hots for me. One of my teammates went to your high school and he told me you’re flaming gay, so don’t bother acting like you’re not interested.”_

_Their gazes clash across the space separating twin beds on opposite sides of the small room. The nerd sets his laptop aside to mock, “What makes you think just because I’m attracted to men in general, that automatically includes you? Talk about narcissistic…”_

_Ignoring the dig, the soccer player huffs a victorious laugh. “You’re not even gonna deny it?”_

“ _Why should I?” he righteously challenges. “Are you on the hunt for a new victim to bash? Go ahead and try it.”_

“ _Be glad I’m_ not _a bully ‘cause there’s no way you could take me with such a scrawny build.”_

_A sharp smirk cuts across his face like a curved blade. “Oh, I could take you, all right.”_

_The jock’s book is snapped shut and tossed aside. He scoots to the edge of his mattress and matches that smirk as he goads, “You’ll be lucky if I don’t make you beg for mercy.”_

“ _Keep making threats like that and I might just use them against you.”_

“ _Keep pissing me off and I’ll make sure you can’t.”_

_Tensed to take action, they stare each other down some more until the big-talking twerp taunts, “Keep pretending you’re not all bark and no bite if it suits your ego, but we both know you won’t risk your athletic scholarship just to put me in my place. So, shut up and focus on trying to cram a modicum of knowledge into that dense Cro-Magnon skull of yours.”_

_A short, agitated growl is all the warning he gives before springing up to attack._

The instant he touches Ishida, there’s this disorienting flare of arousal that almost makes him completely forget about the crew filming them. Ichigo can’t remember the last time he was this excited in every sense of the word. He’s been waiting, waiting, waiting _so long_ for the moment he gets to mess around with Ishida again. The past week spent gearing up for the shoot has been hell for his overactive imagination because this has already become one of his all-time favorite projects and they just started _today_.

His mind snaps back on track as Ichigo concentrates on his wild tousle with the ‘cocky nerd’ character that isn’t really a character at all if you think about it. Ishida’s having a lot of fun with it, he can tell. Especially when their unchoreographed wrestling takes them from the bed to the floor and gets even more heated as they each legitimately struggle for the upper hand. Ichigo is already raging hard, so it’s a very good thing he’s supposed to be. That way Ishida’s character can ‘accidentally’ graze his obvious erection and set the next part of the scene into motion.

“ _Unh_! Fuck…”

“What’s this?” he teases as Ichigo lets himself be straddled and held down, per the plot. “Does violence get you off this much or am I not the only one here who’s into men?”

Ishida cups the bulge in his stylishly distressed jeans and smiles at the resulting groan. But with one of Ichigo’s arms unrestrained, he takes advantage of the opening to start them grappling again. He reverses their positions and slams Ishida down just to hear him grunt from the impact—and because he’s supposed to—so it’s a miracle his stereotypical giant geek-glasses are still mostly in place on his face when they pause to pant and glare.

“You _wish_ I was gay,” Ichigo says, sneering down at him. “I bet you’ve been secretly jerking off while thinking of me since the first day of school.”

Another bout of play-fighting and Ishida claims top for the second time. “Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you? Fucking narcissist. Just admit you want me and maybe I’ll even help you take care of your little ‘problem’.”

“There’s nothing _little_ about it, asshole!”

Eyebrows lifting triumphantly, his smile widens to a confident leer. “You mean you’ve got a nice, _big_ hard-on for me? My mistake.”

“No, that’s not—Ugh, just get off!”

“Make me.”

Ichigo would be lying if he said all this scripted brawling wasn’t one of the key selling points for getting him to sign on. Competing for dominance, trash-talking, hints of pain alongside forbidden pleasure…He absolutely loves it. And this is nowhere near the hottest segment of the scenario. Not for the first time in his career, Ichigo is incredibly thankful he took the time to wank before the shoot or he’d be in so much trouble right now.

“You’re such a perv,” he accuses, shoving Ishida back so he can sit up. “Attacking your roommate like this…”

“First of all, you attacked me, not the other way around. Second, you’re the one who made it sexual. Third, none of this would’ve happened if you hadn’t tried to take your insecurities out on me. It’s not my fault you’re too scared to step out of the closet.”

“Fuck you, I’m not scared or insecure.”

Straightening his glasses and giving a lazy shrug, he casually asks, “Have you ever kissed a man before?”

“I could kiss a dude if I wanted,” Ichigo haughtily replies, “but I don’t.”

“No?” The way Ishida slowly eases closer is so smooth and sultry, just like his voice when he halts a handbreadth from merging mouths to whisper, “How about now?”

A shiver shimmies down Ichigo’s spine and he swallows thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing noticeably. He wants this kiss— _has wanted_ it so bad that reining in the impulse to grab Ishida and suck face like never before takes everything in him. But a tiny pocket of his brain remembers this is his job. He’s supposed to be _acting_ and Ichigo’s character is meant to be feeling slightly tempted but enormously conflicted—not so eager his heart is about to explode out of his chest like one of those lame lovey-dovey cartoons he used to cringe at as a kid.

Instead of enacting his deepest desire, he weakly mocks Ishida, “N-now who’s the narcissist?”

Scoffing at his stubbornness, he dismisses, “Stay in the closet for the rest of your life if it makes you happy. I didn’t really want to kiss you, anyway.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you were just doing me a huge favor,” Ichigo caustically asserts with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

“Yes, I was. You’re not even my type.”

“Like hell!”

“Let’s see,” begins Ishida, adopting a fake pensive demeanor complete with a thoughtful touch to his chin. “Which one of us got hard pathetically fast and keeps trying to blame the other for tricking him into it…?”

Ichigo grabs him by the front of his shirt and roughly yanks him forward to snarl, “Sarcastic bastard! You really think I can’t do it, don’t you?”

“I know you can’t.”

So close, so god damn close and he’s trying not to rush it but his blood is _on fire_ , searing like lava in his veins.

“I’ll make you eat those words,” he darkly vows.

Ishida laughs as he dislodges the grip holding him there so he can stand up and peer down his nose at Ichigo instead. “Let it go, meathead. I don’t want to hear you crying for the rest of the year about how I molested you or something.”

Surging to his feet, he tackles Ishida to the nearest bed and swears, “If one of us is getting ‘molested’, it’s gonna be you.”

His character is laughing at Ichigo’s again, not taking him the least bit seriously, but his humor vanishes the moment their lips meet.

It’s too quick and light to be considered a proper kiss, but that’s the point. The camera moves in to catch it all: a series of dainty, testing presses that transition to more of a mutual effort when Ishida’s character decides to just go with it. The naïve kisses gradually lengthen and linger as they fall further into it. There’s this little spark in his chest that spreads with each passing second, tickling his insides like crush-butterflies and he really hopes it’s due to being deep in character.

Even though Ichigo is trying so hard to channel his seventeen year old self’s first-kiss jitters, it feels so perfect and satisfying to _finally_ make out with Ishida that he’s swiftly losing his professional composure.

“Ah…Kurosaki-san, try not to seem quite so eager,” gently instructs Urahara, “if you can.”

Reluctantly ungluing his lips from Ishida’s, he sheepishly glances toward his director and mutters, “Right. Sorry.” Ichigo looks back to his partner and suggests, “Pinch me or something if I’m overdoing it.”

“Sure,” agrees Ishida, though one of his eyebrows arches curiously at the strange request. Well, Ichigo’s not about to confess how he’s so desperate to kiss him that acting out the opposite is one of the toughest tasks he’s ever attempted. He should get a freaking award for this shit!

He goes back to it, forcing himself to be more hesitant. All he has to do is last a couple more minutes. After that, Ishida will save him from himself.

The time comes and he flips Ichigo to lie on his back so he can take total control of the kiss. Ishida’s fingers tighten in his hair and tug, tilting his head back and making him gasp. That single instant of opportunity is all he needs to roll his tongue inside. Ichigo half-heartedly resists, trying to turn his head and shifting restlessly underneath him, but Ishida puts an end to all that by biting his lip warningly. Ichigo has to inhale sharply to suppress the moan he almost lets loose.

“What makes you think I’ll let you do whatever you want?” he irritably demands in spite of returning the next kiss, and the next.

Sneaking a hand under his shirt to stroke his side, Ishida bluntly informs him, “Virgins don’t get to take the lead. It’s a rule.”

“Who the fuck said I’m a virgin? Besides, there’s no way you _aren’t_.”

To pay Ichigo back for that jibe, he nudges his thigh against the erection that hasn’t waned a fraction the entire time they’ve been filming. It feels so good he almost chokes around the tongue Ishida sweeps deep into his mouth. He does moan this time, but it’s okay because his character is on the cusp of unconditional surrender. The poor guy _is_ a virgin and he has wanted Ishida’s character since day one while thinking he really shouldn’t, so he’s about to throw caution to the wind for the sake of greedily accepting the pleasure he is given.

The turning point happens when he gets fed up with Ichigo’s meek rebellion and murmurs against his mouth, “If you want to experience the most mind-blowing orgasm of your life, quit bitching and take off your pants.”

The soccer star wants to be annoyed but he can’t deny that sounds like a wonderful proposition, so he cautiously pops the button on his own jeans while Ishida watches with lust-black eyes. They make a whole thing out of it, locking gazes as Ichigo draws the zipper down before working the denim over his thighs with these sensual little wriggling motions that mimic what they’ll be doing against each other soon. When the waistline gets to his knees, Ishida stops his progress with a grip at his wrist.

“Leave them there for now. Lose the shirt.”

Although Ichigo grumbles, “You’re a piece of work, you know that?” he still follows directions precisely as they are given.

He’s rewarded by Ishida dipping down to suck on one of his nipples. His fingers bury themselves in dark hair and his eyes fall shut in contentment. Yet, the first press of teeth to that sensitive flesh has Ichigo ‘accidentally’ pulling his hair in surprise. Ishida hums disapprovingly and repurposes his discarded shirt to tie his wrists together.

Anticipating the inevitable complaint, he pins Ichigo’s bound arms above his head and says, “Either these stay here or I leave. Your choice.”

“Not much of a choice at this point, is it?” he complains anyway. “Kinky little cock-tease.”

The insult makes Ishida smile. Stroking firmly over the cock he is very intentionally teasing, he chuckles at Ichigo’s strong shudder and instinctual upward thrust. The thin fabric of his boxers prevents skin-to-skin contact but he still has to breathe through a powerful wash of pleasure and keep from drawing too close to the edge. He’s ready to blow about five times over but they’re not even halfway to the finish line…

And Ichigo has had it worse than this. Far worse. There have been shoots that lasted two hours or more and because he’s a god damned professional, he stayed hard through the whole set without whining once. But this is a bit different. The difference being he’s getting erotically tortured by _Ishida Uryuu_ and he can’t recall the last time he wanted someone this much. Ichigo blames it on the first time they had sex. Initial impressions can carry such insane weight in relationship dynamics and successfully fucking the sense out of each other on the first try is one of those things that’s bound to influence opinions.

“You think this is bad? I’ve barely begun.” He aligns their bodies and settles on top so his hips can spin slow circles against Ichigo’s. At the same time, Ishida starts kissing him again with a distinctly aggressive flair. “Ever heard of something called ‘edging’?”

Evidently, Ichigo’s character has acknowledged his own sexuality enough to watch gay porn. Otherwise, he wouldn’t catch the implication here, which is that Ishida’s character isn’t about to let him climax anytime soon.

“Quit screwing around, mega-dork. Hurry up and get me off or I’ll just do it myself.”

“No, you won’t,” he argues without stopping or speeding up those subtle circles, “because it’ll be so much better if I do it for you. And believe me, it really will.”

To emphasize his point, he pushes a hand down the front of Ichigo’s boxers and heavily palms him a few times. Ishida hums at the way he gasps and arches into it, knowing he has his mulish roommate’s full cooperation now even though he lets go well before Ichigo can get anything close to real relief.

“God, if I knew you were secretly this dirty-minded—”

“You would’ve dragged me into your bed a long time ago?”

Snickering at his agitated expression, Ishida slinks his way south and tugs the waistband of Ichigo’s boxers down a few inches with his teeth. Just enough to expose the slick head of his dick, which gets a playful lick and nothing more. Ichigo groans in both fake frustration and genuine excitement.

“ _Nnh_ …If you’re gonna suck me off, just do it already.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Further protests are preempted by Ishida’s hot, wet mouth sealing around the flared tip. Ichigo curses under his breath and squirms from the intense sensation. He hopes Ishida has seen enough of his movies to recognize the signs of when he’s about to come because the danger is real.

“I c-can’t believe I’m letting you…do this to me,” Ichigo says between heavier breaths. “And why the hell…are you still fully clothed?”

Letting his erection pop free, Ishida looks up at him to taunt, “Can’t wait to see me naked, huh?”

“That’s not what I said!”

“So, you don’t want me to strip?” Rather than confirm the opposite of what he truly wants, Ichigo’s character blinks dumbly and doesn’t say a word. “Which is it, idiot? Clothes on or off?”

When it seems like Ishida won’t continue without an answer, he mumbles, “Off, I guess.”

Ichigo watches him sit up to slip off his shirt. The cotton collar snags on his glasses and Ishida has to adjust them before moving on to his pants. While he gets rid of those, too, Ichigo wonders if he was wearing glasses during his first time. Not the ridiculous stage pair, obviously, but his normal sleek silver frames. He wonders if Ishida was shy like Ichigo’s character or bold like his own. He wonders if Ishida’s first partner was a man or a woman, and whether he knew he was bisexual from the start or figured it out later.

Then he wonders what’s wrong with his brain today since he can’t seem to stay on track for his life.

His jeans are pulled the rest of the way off and Ichigo lets his knees be spread apart so Ishida can fit between his thighs. Their next round of kissing is sloppy and distracted because they’re both thinking about what’s going to happen next. It’s probably the part of the script that made him gape at Ichigo during the cast party and ask if he was really into it. Not only is he very much ‘into it’, but the first read-through made him so horny he had to touch himself right there on his couch picturing Ishida doing that sort of thing to him, on film or otherwise.

“Want me to take these off?” he asks, toying with the waistband of Ichigo’s boxers.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?” But Ishida just rubs him through the fabric some more and nibbles his ear lobe. “Should I do something about this ‘nice, _big_ hard-on’ you got from rolling around on the floor with me?”

“Y-yeah,” he agrees, only slightly hesitant due to his superior tone.

“Will you be a good boy and keep your arms above your head, no matter what I decide to do with you?”

Annoyance finally outweighing arousal, Ichigo glares at him and snaps, “Yes, damn it, so just touch me already!”

Clucking his tongue against his teeth, Ishida shakes his head and advises, “Making demands won’t get you what you need. Asking nicely might.”

“Ugh, you’re a total nutcase, you know that?” Ichigo’s gaze languidly traces down his body from eyes to navel. “I mean, batshit crazy.” His attention is stuck on the tent in Ishida’s boxer-briefs as he says, “I know you want me, too.”

“So it seems.”

“Then quit playing games and get on with it!” He stares at Ichigo with this silently disdainful look until he sighs and painstakingly rephrases, “I’d appreciate it if we could move on from foreplay to something like actual sex soon.”

“Ooh, so polite,” Ishida praises, smiling broadly enough to show the top row of straight white teeth. “I didn’t realize you were interested in having ‘actual sex’ with me but I won’t refuse.”

“Wait, that’s—”

“Unless you’re too nervous?” Petting the side of Ichigo’s thigh patronizingly, he says, “I’ll understand if you’re saving your virginity for ‘the one’.”

He shakes Ishida’s hand off his leg and blurts, “Shut up about that ‘virginity’ bullshit, will you?”

“Mm, maybe I was wrong. Have you fucked another man before? Made love to a woman? Vice versa?”

In the back of his head, Ichigo wants to burst out laughing. He’s about as far from a virgin as it gets! His cute, repressed athlete character, however, is nervous as hell but too proud to show it. He’s also so turned on he can scarcely think straight and he reckons Ishida’s character will drop him like a hot potato if he clings to his little lie, so sacrifices must be made.

“No, okay? I haven’t been with anyone.” Embarrassment and anger combine to make him continue, “But if you keep throwing it in my face, you sure as shit won’t be my first.”

Expression sobering a bit, he kisses Ichigo almost apologetically and murmurs, “I didn’t realize you were that sensitive about it. Let me make it up to you?”

He studies Ishida suspiciously for a minute, but ultimately nods permission. Then he gasps as he is roughly rolled over, hips tugged up to angle his ass toward the ceiling.

“Hey! What are you—”

“Relax, you’re going to enjoy this. I’ll make sure of it.”

Ichigo tenses to feel his boxers yanked down, bunching around his knees. Warm air gusts across his cheeks right before Ishida’s warmer tongue nudges against him. He shivers and moans at the feeling, growing lightheaded by the realization that they are mere moments from the very best part. It’s already so amazing he can barely breathe!

He really starts to lose his mind when Ishida sets to rimming and fingering him as if he was born to charm assholes into opening up like the ugliest fucking flowers. Although, Ichigo mentally amends, there’s positively nothing ugly about Ishida’s fine ass. Particularly not the way it felt squeezing around Ichigo’s cock every time he nailed that tender little bundle of nerves tucked deep inside.

Just as he thinks of Ishida’s prostate, he registers a mighty jolt from his own. Ichigo shouts hoarsely against the mattress and tries not to notice the way a healthy amount of precome drips down his flexing stomach before soaking into the sheet beneath him. Ishida rubs it again, inspiring a long groan with a definite note of desperation in his pitch.

Suddenly, Ichigo is certain this is the manifestation of Ishida’s revenge from the last shoot. He’ll begin tweaking Ichigo’s button with a vengeance and make him scream as he paints the sheets long before he’s supposed to—right in front of everyone who watched him try doing the same to Ishida first.

Except it doesn’t go down like that. Ichigo rides the edge of orgasm for minutes on end as Ishida masterfully intuits precisely how often he can trigger that devastating cascade of pleasure without triggering an even greater one. ‘Torture’ is the perfect word for it, but only if you add ‘sublime’ in front because Ichigo has never felt this conflicted about being so close yet impossibly far from release. The fact that Ishida keeps at it for what feels like eternity and a half is the sweetest kind of suffering he’s ever known.

Never mind things like cast and crew, Ichigo pretty much forgets his own _name_ by the time Ishida withdraws his skillful fingers.

He raises his face, still gasping for air as he struggles to stay lucid. There is a brief window of reprieve in the form of Mizuiro dashing in to squirt some lube into Ishida’s outstretched palm. This part won’t be in the final cut, of course, but most viewers won’t be too concerned with the inconsistency of shininess on his dick before it disappears into Ichigo’s ass.

“You’re never…gonna let me come,” he weakly pants, glancing over his shoulder at Ishida’s infuriatingly calm face. “Are you?”

“Of course I will, I’m not a sadist.” Pausing on that thought, he leans forward to kiss a path up the length of Ichigo’s spine. “I just need to hear you say it.”

“Say what?”

“What do you think?”

Bent over with his cheeks spread and ready to be breached by Ishida’s waiting erection, it doesn’t take a genius to figure lock plus key equals ecstasy. Taking into account their characters’ turbulent relationship, asking for verbal consent is a no-brainer. But there’s more to it than that.

“Do it.”

“Do what?” he coyly asks, smoothing a hand down Ichigo’s torso until it finds the slippery patch right below his belly button. “Look at the mess you made…Did you love having my fingers inside you this much?”

Oh, _god_ yes! As far as his character is concerned, the correct answer is, “Fuck me.”

Ishida bites his shoulder hard enough to leave a mark, forcing a shocked whimper from him that is all-natural. “I’m not one of your teammates, _Captain_. I don’t follow orders.”

Sucking in a stilted breath that sounds like a hiccup, Ichigo’s wavering pride cracks. “Please fuck me!”

It’s Ishida’s turn to moan for a change and it might even be authentic. He grips Ichigo’s hips tightly with both hands and steadily pushes his way inside.

His mouth falls open from the feeling of Ishida finally filling him up after wanting it for so long. He’s big but Ichigo is extremely well prepped so there’s almost zero discomfort. Even if it hurt he wouldn’t care. The only part of his brain that hasn’t shut down from sensory overload is the part that processes pleasure, and there’s plenty of that pulsing throughout his body.

Move, move, _move_ , he wants to scream but it’s not in the script, so there you go. Ishida seems to pick up on his needs anyway and starts to pull out for a firm thrust. As if guided by magic, he grazes Ichigo’s prostate and both of them gasp at the way he clenches up from the shock of it. Ishida recovers quickly, rocking against him with a rhythm that seems to suit them just fine. Not so fast that Ichigo will lose it within seconds and not so slow that Ishida is dying for a little more friction.

Ichigo wants to adjust his stance for optimum balance and traction but he simply can’t. His wrists are tied, his boxers are effectively restraining his legs, and Ishida’s weight bearing down on his hips makes it impossible to do much more than wiggle in place. It should be frustrating to be this confined but for Ichigo it’s just one more kink driving him toward the brink of euphoria. When Ishida bends over him to nip and suck the back of his neck, it’s one more. And each time his dick hits that little bump, Ichigo thinks he feels a blissful spike of life and death at the same time.

He is long past trying to monitor and control the noises coming out of his mouth. If anything, he’s straining to hear Ishida’s but even those are like distant echoes beyond the roar of blood in his ears. He prays Urahara doesn’t give any directives because they won’t be obeyed and Ichigo would prefer not to hear Yoruichi screeching at him about insubordination later.

Right about the time he’s clawing at the sheets like a wild animal, Ishida leans close to whisper, “Don’t you dare come yet, Kurosaki.”

And damned if he doesn’t just about lose it then and there.

It’s only due to that warning and the five seconds he waits before picking up the pace that Ichigo staves it off. The increase in speed translates to an exponential increase in pleasure that has him wishing Ishida would just slow the fuck _down_ , even though he knows this is the next phase of the scene. The one after that Ichigo doesn’t even want to think about and…why did he agree to do this project, again?

“Oh, shit,” he quietly breathes into the bed. He knows Ishida heard it by the spiteful bite of nails into his skin, but even that adds fuel to the flames. “ _Ah_ …”

Ichigo’s fists are twisting in the sheet, his toes are curling, and he knows he’s going to come. It’ll be humiliating but he doesn’t care. The primitive side of his mind has won out over the rational, and it wants satisfaction _now_.

Fortunately, Ishida is not afraid to disappoint him. His left hand snakes under Ichigo to defuse his imminent explosion with a tight grip. He’s simultaneously grateful and resentful, but even in his pathetically frazzled state he knows Ishida is really doing him a solid by keeping him in limbo. It’s the last thing Ichigo expects from him after everything they’ve done to get on each other’s nerves.

“Were you about to spill just from my cock pounding into you, roomie?”

Ishida has gone off-script with that saucy little gem, so he’s not sure how to respond. In the end, Ichigo goes with the truth. “Yes.”

“Does getting fucked by another man feel that good?”

“Yes,” he sighs out because Ishida has slowed his staccato thrusts to something unhurried and fluid.

“If you want it so bad,” he says in his low, seductive tone that always gives Ichigo a thrill to hear, “then beg for it.”

They’re back on script and he remembers his lines but all he wants to do is shout _please_ until he’s hoarse because Ishida starts ramming in hard and fast to really drive the point home. Ichigo can’t get enough of his domineering persona—which is ironic since Ishida’s arrogant attitude was the first thing about him that ticked Ichigo off.

“You’re so…damn…twisted,” he rasps between uneven breaths.

Ishida moves the hand braced against the bed to grab his hair and yank his head back for access to an ear lobe just begging to be bitten and tugged. The lack of support also means more of his weight presses down on Ichigo, wedging him even deeper inside. If all of that isn’t enough to warrant a mental meltdown, what Ishida says next more than covers the difference.

“Act like the wanton little submissive you are and beg me to make you come,” he orders with a slap to the side of Ichigo’s ass for emphasis, “or the fun ends here.”

He’s supposed to hesitate, giving the impression of an inner struggle or whatever, but he’s not even acting anymore. The scope of his consciousness is limited to everywhere Ishida is touching him and nowhere else. His concept of time is skewed, as well, but he’d be surprised if he manages to wait more than two seconds before responding emphatically.

“Please—” Ichigo has to cut himself off when he almost says his co-star’s name, but it’s probably perceived as breathlessness. Not a leap, considering the way his lungs are laboring to do their vital job. “Please make me come!”

Ishida’s breath hitches abruptly and Ichigo can feel him start to climax right before all sensation is lost—except for a detonation of pleasure that hits him like an atom bomb, momentarily obliterating everything he is from the inside out. Ishida’s sliding fist is making it last even longer, adding to the rush. When his slick palm rubs friction and warmth over the hypersensitive tip, it makes Ichigo jolt and wrings a noise from him that he will forever refuse to classify as a desperate whine.

His entire body is flushed with heat and drained of energy. He can’t even lift his head to facilitate his necessity for more air. In a similar state, it takes Ishida a moment to collect himself enough to ease out and sit back on his heels. Guiding Ichigo to lie face up, he unties the shirt binding his wrists and makes intentional eye contact. There are still a few more lines to go until the scene is done, but first he reaches out to pull Ishida down for a lazy kiss.

“Since you’re not punching me, is it safe to assume you won’t bitch about this later?”

Projecting a slightly demure demeanor, Ichigo bites his lip and looks away as he mumbles, “Only if we can do it again sometime.”

Ishida laughs softly and replies, “All you have to do is ask.”

One more meeting of lips on film and Urahara jovially calls, “Cut!”

Yet, Ichigo is giddily mystified when Ishida continues to kiss him for several seconds after the cue to stop. Ichigo’s hand glides down the shallow ridge of his spine to rest against the small of his back as he tilts his head to encourage Ishida’s exploration of his mouth. Happy to make out all day and night if the chance arises, Ichigo isn’t even going to question it.

The familiar sounds of crew scurrying around set seem to spoil the mood for Ishida, who withdraws to give him a quick look that Ichigo can’t fully decipher. It’s composed of something like satiation, confusion, and maybe just a dash of affection. Or he could have it completely wrong. He really wasn’t kidding when he told Rangiku his ability to read their mutual friend is spotty at best.

Ishida gets up but doesn’t disappear like last time. He fastens his robe in place and sits in his chair to drink from the water bottle Mizuiro dutifully dispenses. Once Ichigo musters the strength to sit up and glance around, he notices there’s not an un-flushed face in the room. Everyone may be going about their tasks as usual but professionalism can only go so far. Watching what he just lived thanks to Ishida’s masterful performance, he can’t blame them for being flustered. Yoruichi isn’t even attempting to conceal her excitement. She’s leaning against Urahara’s chair and fanning herself with a copy of the script as she openly leers at Ishida, who appears to be oblivious to the attention.

“Wow,” mocks Keigo as he wanders over to offer Ichigo a robe, “I had no idea you could play such a convincing bottom.”

Rolling his eyes and pulling the cotton into place, he retorts, “Not like I haven’t done it before.” He got plenty of experience when he was with Grimmjaw, who never let him top. Inflexible jackass. “You’re just jealous I wouldn’t let you fuck me that time we all got smashed at the club on New Year’s Eve.”

“Well, it’d only be fair after all the times I’ve kept you hard on set.”

“Lucky Ishida’s around now, huh?” Ichigo won’t need a fluffer anytime they work together since he has zero problems staying aroused for him. “You might be out of a job if he keeps taking Urahara’s offers.”

“Ha-ha,” Keigo sarcastically intones. “Yours isn’t the only dick I’m paid to suck, ya know.”

Ichigo can’t help laughing at that, and Keigo is quick to join in. They’ve been working together way too long to be anything but casual around each other. Although they don’t tend to spend much quality time off-set, he’d still say Keigo is one of his closest friends. Ichigo values his opinion enough to ask, “What did you think of the shoot? My acting was kinda sloppy today, right?”

“Are you joking? Dude, I’d call it one of your best performances. No question.”

“I second that,” says Urahara, walking over to join their chat. “Outstanding job! I was just praising Ishida-san’s inspiring improvisation toward the end, too. I couldn’t be happier with your on-screen chemistry. Yoruichi and I already have another project in mind for you two, if you’re up to it.”

“Uh, yeah. Absolutely.” There’s not a single doubt in Ichigo’s mind that he’d accept nearly any role they give him if Ishida is his love interest. “You might wanna run that by him first, though.”

“Oh, I did. Ishida-san seems satisfied with how well this film is going so far—”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Keigo mutters under his breath.

“And he expressed interest in the possibility of future projects with you as co-star—”

“Which means he can’t wait to have kinky sex with you again,” comments Keigo as if their director can’t hear.

“Assuming he isn’t propositioned by a different production company first, I don’t foresee any reasons we can’t make it happen.”

“Better get to writing the next screenplay, then,” Ichigo blurts before he thinks. Both Urahara and Keigo stare in the wake of his unfiltered enthusiasm. “Or whatever.”

Smiling that creepy, enigmatic smile of his, Urahara agrees, “Indeed, I came to the same conclusion. Yoruichi will contact your agents as soon as we have a solid draft.”

“Well…good.” When the awkwardness doesn’t dissipate, Ichigo clears his throat and says, “I should go and, um, get cleaned up. See you guys tomorrow.”

There are a handful of less intensive scenes to shoot for the overall story arc. No more sex scenes, though, which sucks. It’s also fortunate because he doesn’t think he could handle two days in a row without becoming addicted to Ishida’s glorious cock. And Ichigo had high expectations going into this but _damn_. Not high enough.

He’s still daydreaming about it in his dressing room fifteen minutes later. It’s time to head home for the day but he’s got this weirdly persistent urge to find Ishida first. There is something on his mind that really isn’t likely to go away on its own.

“Hey,” Ichigo says when he opens his dressing room door. “Got a minute?”

Wordlessly stepping aside to let him enter, Ishida closes the door behind him and goes back to snapping the clasps of his shirt into place. Ichigo’s eyes automatically gravitate to the stretch of naked flesh visible amid parted fabric. As if he didn’t just see _all of it_.

“What did you want to talk about?”

“Right,” he prompts for his own benefit, refocusing on Ishida’s face. “I just wanted to say thanks, for earlier. You could’ve let me lose control and fuck up the scene as payback for what I tried to do to you…but you didn’t. So, thanks.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” he claims without looking at Ichigo. “Letting you ruin the scene would’ve inconvenienced everyone, not just us.” True, but somehow he doesn’t believe that was Ishida’s primary motivation. Ichigo’s conviction quadruples when he adds, “Besides, we started over, remember? The past is the past and all that.”

A knowing grin spreads as he asks, “Does that mean you forgive me for being a total pain in the ass before we got to know each other better?” Ishida frowns as he fixes the cuffs of his dress shirt but remains silent. “Come on, I can handle the truth.”

Meeting Ichigo’s gaze at last, he arches an eyebrow at that assertion. “Can you? Because it seems as if you ignore anything that doesn’t fit in line with your preferences.”

“I can understand if you’re still holding a grudge but we both know you don’t exactly hate me. Great sex is _great sex_ but you wouldn’t be here unless—”

“I’m here because the premise suits my tastes and the pay is good.”

He takes a risk by moving closer despite Ishida clearly becoming agitated by their conversation. When is he not?

“Okay,” Ichigo begins in a somewhat more serious cadence. “Even if it had nothing to do with me, personally, I’m glad you signed on.” Ishida stops fidgeting with his sleeves and regards him with a cautious expression. “That was one of—no, it was _the_ hottest scene of my career even though it came so close to being the most mortifying instead.”

“Like I said, that wasn’t—”

“Just take the damn compliment, will you?” Ichigo huffs a frustrated little laugh and rubs the back of his neck. “You’re the only person who’s ever pushed me past my limit like that.”

Eyes widening marginally, Ishida is at a loss for response as his cheeks take on a pretty pink tinge. It’s so cute Ichigo is leaning in before he realizes what he’s doing. He kisses Ishida and Ishida kisses him—for about three seconds.

Then, “Kurosaki,” he protests with his tone and pushes him back.

“What? In our line of work, a kiss is like a handshake.”

It’s supposed to be a joke but Ishida is not amused. His frown deepens, spreading to his brow, and he turns to snatch his jacket from a chair. Pausing by the door he opens with obvious intent to ditch this discussion immediately, he coldly snarks, “Save it for the camera,” and walks out.


	6. Let’s Kill Tonight

“Ugh, we’ve been here for almost twenty minutes,” whines Chizuru. Crossing her arms, she glares at the hostess leading a couple who just walked in to be seated at an open table.

“Talk to your girlfriend,” Ichigo grumbles from where he’s leaning against the armrest of a waiting-bench. “That’s what you get for not making a reservation, Tatsuki.”

Both women give him dirty looks for pointing out the painful truth.

“How was I supposed to know this place would be so busy on a Tuesday? I’ve never seen it so packed on a weeknight before!”

“Yeah, right. Just admit you forgot about Chizuru’s birthday.”

Tatsuki whacks the back of his head, partly because she knows he’s purposely being a brat and partly so Chizuru won’t gouge his eyes out for implying anything negative about her lover. Ichigo takes his lumps with an aggravated sigh and props his chin on a palm. He doesn’t really get why they dragged him out to what should’ve been a romantic dinner for two anyway.

If he had his way, he would be relaxing at home before Camisado’s first concert of the season tomorrow. They tend to draw more of the younger crowd during summer, which usually translates to higher energy shows. Instead, he’s sitting in the foyer of some fancy-ass eatery wearing semi-dressy clothes for the occasion or whatever. Although, to be fair he’s already gotten two compliments from strangers on his black slacks, maroon button-up that almost matches Tatsuki’s dress, and black tie combo. There is a fashionable jacket that goes with the ensemble but he intentionally left it in the car.

“Lisa-chan?” He follows Tatsuki’s line of sight to the entrance and freezes to identify none other than Ishida and his agent, plus some tall foreign-looking dude with pale blond hair falling past his shoulders. Rising to intercept them, Tatsuki smiles and says, “I thought that was you. What are the chances?”

_Yeah_ , thinks Ichigo with narrowed eyes _, what_ are _the chances_?

“Uryuu’s cousin is visiting from Germany this week,” explains Lisa with a gesture toward the blond guy, as if it’s all very natural and not suspicious at all. “He wanted to try one of our favorite restaurants while he’s here.”

“Jugram Haschwalth,” the foreigner solemnly introduces himself with a princely bow. There’s a hint of an accent, so Ichigo reckons he’s legit. “It’s very nice to meet you, miss…”

“Arisawa Tatsuki,” she supplies with a friendly grin. Indicating the pair of them still seated on the bench, she adds, “That’s my girlfriend, Honshou Chizuru, and my best friend, Kurosaki Ichigo.”

German dude tilts a regal nod in their direction and Ichigo resists the urge to roll his eyes; another weird one has shown up.

He doesn’t realize he’s trying not to look at Ishida until he does and their eyes meet instantly. Ichigo straightens from his slouch, still trying to act casual but he can’t deny he’s a little nervous. They finished the rest of the shoot without a hitch in spite of that awkward moment in Ishida’s dressing room. Yet, the air between them has been kind of cold and cordial ever since. They haven’t seen each other for over two weeks now and Ichigo isn’t sure how to act around him.

“What are they so bummed about?” asks Lisa.

“Oh, we’ve just been waiting on a table to clear for a while.” Ichigo scoffs at the fact that she left out _she’s_ the reason why and Tatsuki scowls at him over her shoulder. “Hope you guys have a reservation or you might want to eat somewhere else.”

“We do,” Haschwalth says before offering, “Why don’t the three of you join us?”

“Are you sure?” chirps Chizuru, springing off the bench to bat glittering eyes at her savior.

Lisa shrugs. “More the merrier.”

Beside her, Ishida frowns so lightly Ichigo is probably the only one who notices it’s there.

“Nah, we won’t crash your party. Chizuru would just talk the whole time and play footsie with everyone. Let’s go to that sushi joint you like, Tatsuki. There’s no way they’ll be full-up.”

“Shut it, Ichigo. It’s Chizuru’s birthday so she picks the restaurant.”

“Happy birthday,” congratulates Lisa with her typical inflectionless cadence.

“Thank you! And thank you, Haschwalth-san. We accept your offer.”

Ichigo sighs in defeat and rubs the back of his neck. Well, can’t say he didn’t try.

After a quick chat with the hostess, the six of them are guided to sit at a broad C-shaped booth tucked into a cozy corner of the building. Ichigo gets stuck in the middle with Tatsuki and Chizuru to his right, Ishida’s group to his left. Of course, Ishida takes the very last spot on the end so he’s about as far from Ichigo as he can get. Whether or not that was Ishida’s goal remains a mystery, but he’d bet hard cash it was.

Once the server takes their drinks order, Chizuru wastes no time proving him right by launching into a nosy line of questioning. Ichigo doesn’t care what town the German guy grew up in or how he’s specifically related to Ishida, so he tunes most of it out. He holds his menu in front of his face long after deciding what to order and pretends he isn’t trying to sneak glances at the man who almost broke his perfect streak for on-set performance. It’s tough not to stare when he looks particularly hot in a well-fitted white blazer over a mint green dress shirt with the top two buttons undone. Damn, why is he so good at ‘subtle sexiness chic’?

He starts to glance up from his menu and Ichigo promptly buries his nose into the crease of his own.

“Let me out, Uryuu,” his agent requests and heads for the restroom when he does.

Less than a minute later, Haschwalth gets a phone call and excuses himself to go take it in the hall. These mundane events scarcely register on Ichigo’s radar until Lisa comes back and shoves Ishida aside rather than reclaim her original position, then pushes him further in when Haschwalth returns…And suddenly Ichigo is sitting right beside Ishida.

“If you guys are done playing musical chairs—”

Tatsuki kicks him quiet under the table but nobody fesses up to their obvious ploy. Ichigo folds his menu and abandons it on the table now that it has no use as a decent smokescreen. The quick motion stirs the air, which sends a whiff of whatever understated cologne Ishida is wearing wafting his way. It smells really fucking awesome mixed with his personal scent and Ichigo nearly tips the glass over in his haste to gulp down some cool water because this is _so not fair_.

Luckily, their server picks that moment to check in for their orders, so no one is focusing on how he’s becoming increasingly flustered for no reason at all. Why can’t he relax and just go with it? This seriously isn’t like him. Ichigo hasn’t gotten flustered over anyone since he was a _teenager_. What the hell makes Ishida so special?

Oh, right: maybe it’s on account of him being breathtaking in about a dozen different ways? How graceful his long fingers look cradling the curve of a wine glass is absurd. His hair is stupidly shiny and straight, not a strand out of place. The dulcet timbre of his voice sounds more melodic than the smooth jazz playing in the background. In profile, the stark angle of his jaw line appears stately, especially as it is complemented by the distinctly masculine outline of his Adam’s apple. Even the dorky way he adjusts his glasses is accomplished with elegant ease.

Tatsuki disrupts his inner idolizing by nudging his knee with hers to get his attention.

“ _What_?” he barks, unable to control his temper when he can’t even control his dumb hormones. It soon becomes clear everyone is waiting on him to give his order so their server can do her job. “Uh, sorry. I’ll have the…” Shit, he already forgot due to his fixation with Ishida. “Whatever she ordered,” he mumbles with a gesture toward Tatsuki.

The silence is mocking him even if they aren’t.

The server nods, smiles, and promises their meals will be right out. As she walks away Tatsuki, Chizuru, and Lisa continue to stare at him in mute scrutiny. Ichigo wants to upend the table and dash through the exit but he forces himself to take a deep breath instead. He can do better than this. He is more mature than this. He won’t let himself be influenced by Ishida’s insanely strong sex appeal. No, he won’t.

“So, Kurosaki-san…” His head snaps up sometime later to acknowledge Haschwalth’s impending question. “Yadoumaru-san tells me you have worked with Ishida-kun?”

Blinking at that for a second, Ichigo asks, “Who told you?”

“Lisa,” someone mercifully informs him. That this ‘someone’ turns out to be Ishida only makes his brain’s boggling worse. “Her family name is Yadoumaru.”

“Oh, right.” He totally knew that. “Yeah, Ishida and I have worked together on a couple of projects.”

His words come out casually even though they are carefully selected in case Haschwalth isn’t aware their ‘work’ generally requires nudity. The last thing he needs is Ishida giving him the evil eye for outing him to his distant relatives.

“What do you think of his style?”

“Umm, I…” He asks with his expression and Ishida gives a short nod and tilt of his head to indicate it’s fine. “I’d say he’s a very versatile actor.” Tatsuki snickers behind her hand and it’s his turn to nudge her under the table. “Getting to work with an actor whose skill and adaptability you can rely on is rare in my experience. It’s always great being able to trust your co-star like that.”

Another hush overtakes the group but Ichigo feels pride rather than shame this time. He meant all of it, too. Regardless of his feelings, Ishida deserves recognition for how seriously he takes his craft. Most people in the porn industry never come close to his level of talent and, not for the first time, Ichigo wonders why he’d choose dirty movies over feature films if acting is truly his passion.

“Wow,” says Lisa, regarding him with impressed eyebrows. “Well said, Ichigo.”

A lazy half-shrug accompanies his indifferent reply. “It’s true.”

From the corner of his eye, he can see both Tatsuki and Chizuru smirking at him.

“I would have to agree with your assessment, Kurosaki-san,” Haschwalth states and takes a sip of wine. Ichigo does a double-take because _what_? Did he just imply he has watched Ishida’s movies? Okay, cousins however many times removed but still! Thankfully, he goes on to correct the misunderstanding by saying, “Ishida-kun attended my local university for a semester and I was able to see him in action during clinicals. It isn’t surprising to hear his remarkable poise and dedication extend to all areas of his professional life.”

“Funny you mention that.” He laughs and aims a thumb at Ishida as he admits, “The first time I heard this guy’s IQ, I didn’t believe it.” Sensing killing intent emanating from his immediate left, Ichigo hurriedly backpedals, “I mean, I just couldn’t see why anyone with a doctorate would sign on to our kinda gig, but after spending some time together on set I realized he’s just the type of person who’d be good at anything, so…”

He clears his throat and goes to take another drink but his water is gone. When did he drink it all? And why is his mouth so dry?

“Why does anyone ‘sign on to our gig’, Kurosaki?”

Because fucking is fun and porn pays well?

Rather than state the obvious, he clarifies, “Sure, but it’s grunt work,”—Chizuru snorts loudly at the pun but Ichigo ignores her—“and you’re a _genius_. Lisa said you quit medicine because of a disagreement with your dad but there are lots of other genius-y careers. That’s all I’m saying.”

Ishida starts to reply but stops when he notices two servers laden with steaming dishes approaching their table.

Conversation takes a nosedive as everyone digs in to their food. Ichigo isn’t about to complain when talking is just getting him into more trouble as the evening drags on. Man, he really doesn’t need all this stress the night before a big concert!

To keep himself occupied as long as possible, he grazes on his meal and appreciates the fact that Tatsuki chose something he likes. At least this way he doesn’t have to pretend to enjoy it like he’s pretending he _doesn’t_ enjoy being so close to Ishida. Indulging a glance, Ichigo finally notices he’s actually drinking wine like everyone else in spite of claiming to be sober. Ishida catches him staring as he lifts the glass to his lips and flawlessly interprets his incredulity.

“Lisa made me swear I’d have one glass,” he mutters under his breath, probably hoping she won’t hear. But she does.

“I told you, Uryuu, you’re too tense in these kinds of situations.” Giving his stiff posture a critical once-over, she notes, “Guess I should’ve made it two glasses, huh?”

Ichigo is likely the reason one isn’t doing the trick, though. Sympathy encourages him to mention, “Rangiku-san told me why you don’t like to drink.” Shock and trepidation flash across his features and he sets his glass down a tad too roughly. “I get it, Ishida. Having a low tolerance for alcohol must suck, right?”

He hears Lisa laugh aloud for the first time ever. “Is that what she told you?”

“Shut _up_ , Lisa,” he hisses as a faint blush rises.

“Whoa, I’ve gotta be missing something here…”

Ichigo is confused. Rangiku is one of the most honest people he knows. She’ll say anything with no filter and doesn’t need lies to get what she wants, but she does occasionally omit certain key pieces of information. He gathers from Lisa’s humor that this is one of those key pieces. Sadly, neither of them seems keen to fill him in on the secret.

Ishida diverts his attention by asking, “How do you know Matsumoto-san?”

“Same as you, originally.” A wicked grin refuses to be quashed as he shares, “She still has that video you two did, by the way. Talk about a sexy librarian!”

Even though they have no solid context on the topic, Chizuru and Tatsuki burst into giggles as Lisa mirrors Ichigo’s grin. Haschwalth merely shows mild concern for the alarming shade of magenta Ishida is turning.

“I asked her to delete that,” he protests in a small voice.

“For the record, I’m really glad she didn’t. Now that I think about it, I should ask her to send me a copy.”

He isn’t joking but it gets the women going again. They’re starting to get rude looks from other tables.

“Don’t you dare, Kurosaki.”

This is fun. This is Ichigo’s comfort zone. Feeling emboldened by Ishida’s adorable discomfiture, he teases, “Y’know the last time I saw Rangiku-san she said she wanted to—” Ichigo pauses, leans close to his ear, and whispers, “Invite us over to her place for dinner, wine, and a threesome.”

“Oh, my god,” Ishida groans into the hands he uses to hide his face. “That woman is incorrigible.”

“She also said the offer stands if you ever change your mind. I’m game, too, if you were wondering.”

Dropping his hands to glare, he curtly informs Ichigo, “I wasn’t.”

“Speaking of Rangiku-san,” interjects Tatsuki once she regains her breath, “did she get back to you about the single?”

“Not yet. She’s got a lot of stuff lined up right now so she might not have time for a few weeks.”

“Hm. You’ll just have to find another guest vocalist, then.”

That sneaky sneak! She brought this up on purpose knowing Ichigo still hasn’t worked up the courage to broach the subject with Ishida. He’s not falling for it that easily.

“Yeah, we’ll figure it out eventually.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” says Haschwalth, “but are you referring to music?”

“We’re talking about Ichigo’s band, Camisado.”

“My Spanish is rusty, but camisado means ‘an attack under the cover of night’, correct?”

“Yep. I’m surprised you know it, though. I’d never heard of the term until my buddy Chad suggested it suited our style. He’s a Mestizo, so he speaks Spanish pretty well.”

“I didn’t know and I’m dating the band’s manager,” Chizuru wryly adds.

Since Ishida isn’t asking questions or raising eyebrows, Ichigo figures it’s safe to assume he’s not learning anything new, either. Maybe what Lisa told Tatsuki about him being a fan was for real after all.

“That is very interesting,” Haschwalth declares. “Perhaps I could listen to a few of your songs?”

Tatsuki perks up like this is precisely the chance she’s been waiting for. “They’ve got a live show scheduled for tomorrow night if you don’t already have plans. I could get the three of you back-stage passes. Gratis, of course.”

_The three of you_ , she says. _Back-stage passes_ , she says. _Gratis_ , she says. Ichigo rolls his eyes at her outlandish meddling. At least she hasn’t brought up the whole _everyone in the band is dying to meet Ishida_ shtick yet.

“I don’t have plans,” volunteers Lisa, “and I know Uryuu doesn’t have plans. What do you think, Haschwalth-dono?”

Dono? What, are they in the feudal era?

“I think I would like that.”

“Great, then it’s settled. Tatsuki-chan, send me the details and we’ll meet you there.”

Ichigo is glancing between the two of them in unconcealed suspicion. That went a little too smoothly for a spur-of-the-moment invite.

Evidently, Ishida is doubting his agent’s intentions, as well, since he nags, “What makes you so sure I’m available?”

“Because I organize your schedule,” Lisa flatly reminds him. “If you had something I’d just clear it. This sort of opportunity doesn’t come along often and I know you’ve been dying to—”

“Who schedules their concert on a _Wednesday_?” he taunts Ichigo.

Taking it in stride, he points out, “Most of our fans don’t have the usual nine-to-five. They’re high school or college kids, free-thinkers, and fellow artists.”

Ishida shakes his head. “How Bohemian.”

“You’ve never had a job with standard hours, either,” Lisa accuses. “Although the only time you get anywhere close to ‘Bohemian’ is when you’ve had too much to—”

“Well, I think we’re ready for the check. Right, everyone?” Ishida signals their server from across the room and reaches for the wallet in his back pocket.

“Please,” says Haschwalth as he reaches into his jacket’s breast pocket, “allow me. Consider it my thanks for a lovely evening and a generous invitation.”

There’s something so dignified about this German dude that makes it impossible for any of them to object. Normally, Ichigo won’t take charity from anyone for any reason but he gets the inkling Haschwalth sincerely doesn’t mind picking up the tab all on his own. Hell, Ichigo wouldn’t be fazed to hear he’s in the presence of _royalty_.

“Happy birthday to me~” Chizuru sings, openly delighted.

“Thank you, Haschwalth-san,” adds Tatsuki with a genuine smile. “I really hope you enjoy the show.”

They are _killing it_ tonight.

The crowd’s going nuts and Ichigo is amped to the extreme. He hasn’t played this hard in a long time and the fractured drumstick he flung somewhere behind him after just the second song proves it. The way Grimmjaw keeps restlessly prowling the stage as he sings suggests Ichigo’s not the only one having a fantastic time. Riruka can’t stop beaming—even though she’s supposed to be the ‘stoic bad girl’ of the group—and Chad is in ‘warrior mode’ with his favorite axe.

Part of Ichigo is majorly depressed when the final note of the last track on their lineup echoes throughout the theatre, drowned out by the audience’s ascending roar. They want an encore and he wants to give it to them but their set is already an hour over thanks to Grimm getting chatty with the fans between songs. Then again, they say the hallmark of any great lead singer is their ability to charm the masses and he’s damn sure managing that.

His bright red sleeveless shirt is a lot darker now that it’s drenched in sweat. He’s tempted to strip it off right there but the last time he tried resulted in a stampede of frenzied women rushing the stage. Grimm has had his shirt ripped off once or twice, Chad gets randomly glomped on a regular basis, and Riruka has men tossing flowers and cutesy little plushies at her after every single concert. Funny thing is, none of them have ever really complained about any of it.

The four of them reluctantly give an enthusiastic goodbye to the shrieking crowd before exiting stage left.

“That was _amazing_!” Riruka gushes as soon as they step past the curtain. “I’m so psyched for the rest of summer!”

“There’s no way our CDs won’t sell out at the merch booths,” rejoices Grimm with a greedy grin. “We shoulda brought more.”

“Mn,” Chad agrees.

Ichigo is in the process of chugging an entire bottle of water when Tatsuki walks up to ask, “You guys ready to meet ‘n greet with the VIPs?”

“Bring ‘em on!” cheers Riruka.

“Uh, gimme a sec,” Ichigo requests. Corralling Tatsuki a modest distance from his prying bandmates, he asks, “Did Ishida show?”

“You didn’t see him in the front row?”

“Nope.” He didn’t even try to since he couldn’t risk becoming nervous just to confirm it.

Tatsuki smirks as if reading his mind and says, “He’s here. Waiting to meet the band with the other back-stagers.”

“Cool. Do me a favor?” Her expression prompts him to continue, “Ask him to come to the green room for a minute. I should probably warn him about Grimm before he digs his claws in.”

“Uh-huh. That better not be all you two talk about.”

She saunters off to deliver the message and Ichigo informs the group, “You guys go ahead. I’ll be there in ten.”

Stopping for a quick restroom visit, he goes into the deserted green room and digs up a spare top to swap for the damp one. It’s an old t-shirt he got at his very first rock concert, so it’s saturated with his scent in that instinctively comforting kind of way. He has worn it so many times over the years he can’t believe it’s not holier than his jeans.

The door swings open right when he tugs his shirt over his head.

“Who knew music could be so strenuous?” Ishida teases with a glance at his bare chest as he closes the door behind him.

“Yeah,” says Ichigo, smiling sheepishly. “Gives me an excuse to skip upper body day at the gym.”

He cracks a slight smirk at the joke and moves to perch on the cushioned arm of a wide couch. “What did you want to tell me?”

His response is briefly delayed in favor of appreciating Ishida’s outfit. It’s nothing like what he normally wears, all fashion-conscious and pristine. Black high-tops, tight grey jeans, a silky cerulean tank top, and an open white over-shirt make him appear simultaneously informal yet sophisticated, younger yet approachable. A silver chain looped around his neck dips beneath the tank, making Ichigo want to hook a finger in the collar and reveal whatever hidden pendant is weighing the chain down.

“Just a friendly warning before you meet the band.” Pulling on his replacement top, he goes to stand in front of Ishida as he explains, “Riruka is obsessed with you, so don’t freak if she passes out. Chad’s fine, no problems there, but it’s Grimmjaw you gotta worry about. He’s guaranteed to hit on you—and when I say ‘hit on’, I mean he won’t hesitate to shove his tongue down your throat if you’re not careful.”

“I see,” he acknowledges with one eyebrow cocked in intrigue. “Warning duly noted.”

“Good.” Ichigo’s eyes dart somewhere else as he asks, “So, what did you guys think of the show?”

“Lisa said she loved it. I don’t think the genre is quite Haschwalth-san’s style, but he seemed to be enjoying himself well enough.”

His eyes wander back to Ishida’s of their own volition. “And you?”

Lowering his gaze with this odd little smile on his face, he prods his glasses into place and softly says, “I have a confession, Kurosaki. Although I doubt it’s news now that Arisawa-san has become ‘besties’ with Lisa.”

“Okay…?”

Ishida looks up and bravely admits, “I’ve been a fan of Camisado’s music for a while. This isn’t my first time attending one of your concerts, either.”

Mad respect to him for finally spilling the beans on his own, even if he’s spot-on about Lisa beating him to it. Ichigo wants to do a happy dance but he settles for a flattered grin.

“That’s awesome. I’m sure they’ll be stoked to hear it.” Taking a few seconds to word it just right, he says, “I have a confession, too, Ishida. Ever since Rangiku-san told everyone you used to sing, they’ve been nagging the hell out of me to ask if you’d be up for featuring on one of our tracks. That’s why Tatsuki brought it up last night.”

“Is that so?” He tries to downplay it but his expression proclaims he’s pleasantly surprised by the offer. “Unfortunately, I’ve been out of practice for years and I was never mainstream to begin with. You’d be better off recruiting a professional.”

His humble assertion is powerfully endearing. It makes Ichigo that much more determined to get a ‘yes’ out of him.

“Let a member of the band be the judge of that.”

Studying him skeptically, Ishida wonders, “Are you asking me to audition for you?”

“Why not?” When he turns his head away, Ichigo sighs and goads, “Come on, don’t be a diva. I just wanna hear what you can do. Better to sing in front of me than the whole band, right?” That only makes Ishida frown. Sinking toward the range of desperation, Ichigo snatches a handful of wrinkled pages out of his bag and pushes them into Ishida’s hands. “Here, this is the song we’ve been working on. Just do part of the chorus or whatever.”

He said ‘we’ but it’s actually one he wrote on his own with some minor input from Chad about the chords. Camisado was originally just the two of them, after all. Back then Ichigo used to do most of the vocals but he has always preferred sticking to drums. Luckily for him, Grimmjaw is just fine with being left out of the creative process until it’s time to wail on stage.

“Kurosaki—”

“You can read sheet music, right?”

Ishida gives him a flat look. “Of course I can.”

“Well, go ahead. Ready when you are.”

They stare at each other for a tense moment, but Ichigo is used to their tension by now. He’s actually sort of growing to like it.

“Fine,” Ishida snaps at length. “Laugh and I’ll stab you with your own splintered drum stick.”

Once his eyes drop to the pages, Ichigo grins but doesn’t laugh. His humor recedes as he notices Ishida seems a bit anxious over this. Understandable, seeing as Ichigo is putting him on the spot and all. There might be something he can do to fix that, though. He takes Chad’s backup—and much less beloved—acoustic guitar from its case propped in the corner and plops onto the sofa beside the armrest he’s using as a seat. Ishida shoots a dubious look down at him but doesn’t gripe when he starts to strum.

Beginning from the main chorus, Ichigo eases in to let him get acclimated but Ishida doesn’t need his hand held. He confidently sings the words Ichigo wrote with these clear, mellow notes his rough voice could never hope to achieve. Not even Grimm has this natural knack for pure tones, which is why they usually wind up using auto-tune and vocoding for some of the sweeter songs. By the time Ishida finishes the chorus, all he can think is Rangiku really knows her shit.

Ichigo keeps playing, just in case, and is thrilled when Ishida decides to keep singing along. They get all the way through the second half to the very end.

“Out of practice, my ass,” Ichigo grumbles in spite of his persistent smile. “Comments, Ishida?”

“I like this song. I can see why you chose it for your next single.”

It’s a struggle not to puff up from the praise rather than simply reply, “Thanks.”

“That was your cue to brag about being the one who wrote it.” At Ichigo’s flabbergasted look, he snickers and says, “You write most of Camisado’s music, don’t you? According to the little booklets in your CDs, anyway.”

He gulps against the sudden compulsion to scoop Ishida into his arms and kiss him like crazy. God, he really _is_ a fan! Ichigo is far too astounded to attempt teasing him about it. All he can stammer in response is, “Y-yeah.”

“I didn’t know you could play guitar, though. Can you sing, too?”

“Um…not very well.”

“Shame,” Ishida says and passes back his sheet music. “I haven’t done a duet in years.”

Biting his lip in instant regret, Ichigo lets it go in lieu of asking, “So, will you record the song with us?”

“ _Yes! Yes, yes, ohmygodyes!_ ” The door bursts open and Riruka stumbles into the room, starry-eyed and pink as a tulip. “Please say yes?”

Ichigo rests the guitar on the coffee table as he stands to chastise the hyper nitwit. “What the hell, Riruka!? You scared the shit outta me!”

She isn’t listening. She’s too busy gaping at Ishida while her knees wobble and her pigtails quiver. Geez, her fan-mania is the worst he’s ever seen after Nel. Taking two steps closer, Riruka reaches her tolerance for his aura of magnificence, or whatever, and daintily faints…right into Ishida’s arms. He glances from her sleep-slackened face to Ichigo with such a stereotypical ‘what do I do?’ face that holding back his laughter is impossible.

“Kurosaki,” he reprimands with his tone.

“I warned you, didn’t I?” Moving to grab her legs, he directs, “Here, let’s put her on the couch.”

Feat accomplished, Ishida worriedly regards her limp form and asks, “Should we call someone?”

“Nah, she’ll be all right. This is what she gets for snooping.” Ichigo crosses his arms as he considers how frazzled Riruka would act in the studio with Ishida. As much as it kills him, he kindly offers, “I’ll understand if you wanna say ‘no’ to the single.”

“Do you wanna die, Deathberry?” Grimmjaw strides in next and Ichigo lets his arms drop to his sides on an exasperated sigh. “‘Cause I thought I made it pretty fuckin’ clear I’d murder you if he didn’t say ‘yes’.”

Out of everything Ishida could choose to mention, his curiosity gets fixed on, “Deathberry?”

“It’s his dumb nickname for me from when we used to date. Something about ‘a little death’ and ‘strawberry’…I don’t even know.”

Grimm grabs him by the back of his neck and leans close to his ear as he taunts, “What I said was ‘being inside your sweet ass feels like flirting with death’.”

“Wow, it’s even dumber than I remember,” he deadpans, making Ishida laugh.

The sound catches Grimm’s attention and he foregoes retribution against Ichigo to go sniff around Ishida instead.

“Damn, you’re fine, baby. Even hotter in person,” purrs Grimmjaw around a languid lick of his lips. “Wanna come home with me tonight?”

“There you are,” Tatsuki calls as she joins the party. Chad is a stolid shadow behind her. “How long are you planning to keep the VIPs waiting? And what happened to Riruka?”

“Ishida happened to her.”

“Oh,” she says, no further information necessary. “Well, wake her up so we can do the meet ‘n greet.”

Ichigo grabs a bottle of water and confirms, “On it.”

“No you don’t.” Grimm snatches the bottle and shoves him toward Ishida. “You land that fish _now_ , Kurosaki, or—”

“Yeah, yeah, pain of death,” he summarizes, complete with exaggerated eye-roll. Ichigo turns to the fish in question. “What’s it gonna be, Ishida? I’m sure you’re ready to run screaming from these lunatics, so I won’t hold it against you if—”

“I’ll do it.”

His mouth is left hanging open mid-sentence for a couple of seconds. “Seriously?”

“I told you: I like the song,” he reminds, smirking at Ichigo’s bewilderment. With a meaningful glance toward Grimm, he adds, “Besides, I’d hate to be the cause of anyone’s premature demise.”

Ichigo turns in time to watch his lead singer ruthlessly douse his bassist back to wakefulness. The whole bottle is upended over her face regardless of how she splutters in obvious consciousness.

“God dammit, Grimmjaw, now my makeup’s gonna run!”

“I bet your pervy fans’ll love that messy, tear-streaked look on you.”

“ _Grrrah_ , I’m so gonna smother you in your sleep, asshole!”

“Is exchanging death threats among band members a daily routine?” Ishida interprets from the outrageous scene. “And I thought you had a foul mouth, Kurosaki…You’re practically a boy scout by comparison.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“All right, everybody,” rallies Tatsuki with loudly clapping hands. “Get your goofy butts down the hall and satisfy your fans or I’m donating tonight’s merch profits to charity.”

Leering straight at Ishida, Grimmjaw quips, “I can think of one fan in particular I’d be happy to _satisfy_ all night long.”

“Yes, we all know you’re a sex machine and Ishida-kun is very impressed,” Tatsuki assures as she herds Grimm and Riruka into the hall. “Now, go. Sado-kun, can you make sure they make it there without getting distracted?” Chad nods dutifully even though she’s joking. Mostly. “Are you two coming?”

“Yep,” Ichigo answers.

As they mosey toward the opposite side of the theatre’s backstage area, Tatsuki addresses Ishida, “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you this but try not to announce anything about the single yet. In show business, the timing of that kind of thing is important.”

“I understand, Arisawa-san. I’ll leave the announcements up to your discretion.”

The meet ‘n greet goes smoothly, albeit nearly fifteen minutes late. Ichigo hides it well but his mind is preoccupied. He’s ruminating on his social interactions over the past two nights and how it doesn’t bug him as much anymore that Ishida treats him differently than everybody else. In a way, Ichigo almost feels privileged. He’s the only one who gets a glimpse past Ishida’s polite façade to who he really is at heart. It isn’t all peaches and sunshine. Sometimes he’s mean or insecure or arrogant. Sometimes he makes Ichigo want to push him down a flight of stairs. But that’s all part of it and he has lived enough to know the bad goes with the good.

He really wishes he hadn’t already asked Ishida out. Maybe if he waited until they were on close terms it would’ve been harder for him to turn Ichigo down. Then again, maybe not. Point is: he’ll never know and asking Ishida out a second time with the same result would sting a lot more now that Ichigo’s feelings for him have evolved past primarily physical attraction to…something infinitely more intimidating.

After the last giddy fan is serviced and Tatsuki gives them permission to leave their chairs, he goes searching for Ishida.

Turns out he finds Lisa first.

“Hey,” Ichigo calls to get her attention. She lowers the phone she was tapping to appraise him. “Give it to me straight, Lisa: did you and Tatsuki plan last night’s little dinner party?”

“No, but I can’t say we haven’t talked about doing something similar. Rukia-chan had some fun ideas, too, but I think it worked out better this way.” _Rukia is in on this!?_ Glossing right over his indignation, she changes the subject as her eyes return to the cell’s screen. “Oh, if you see Uryuu can you let him know I have something to tell him?”

“Why don’t you just call him?”

“He left his phone in the car for safekeeping.” At his blank look, Lisa elaborates, “In case of moshing.”

Ichigo can’t even begin to imagine Ishida in the middle of a mosh pit. While he’s fighting off that disturbing daydream, Lisa wanders off without bothering to bid him goodbye. Shaking his head at her lack of social graces, Ichigo figures he can’t say anything and resumes his quest for the elusive Ishida.

His quest ends in a sparingly utilized hallway leading around a dim corner to dusty storage space. The question of why anyone would be back there is soon answered by the presence of another person—namely, Grimmjaw—and the activity they are currently engaged in—namely, making out—which is always more engrossing when done in privacy.


	7. Casual Affair

Ichigo makes an awkward choking noise as his guts are viciously yanked out of his body and splattered across the cement floor.

Ishida is pressed against the wall, caged in by Grimm’s larger body, but it becomes evident he isn’t exactly trapped when he pushes Grimm back to inspect the noise he just noticed. Their eyes meet. Ichigo gives it a few seconds but there isn’t a drop of contrition bleeding into his expression. There’s nothing in his expression at all.

Grimm turns to see what he’s staring at and Ichigo robotically conveys, “Lisa needs to talk to you.”

Pushing his partner the rest of the way off, Ishida says, “Another time, then,” and walks toward Ichigo.

“Way to cock-block me, dumbass,” Grimmjaw spits as he shoulders past to leave them alone in the hall instead.

When Ichigo doesn’t budge on his own after a minute, Ishida prompts, “Well, where is she?”

Like nothing is awry here. Like he doesn’t anticipate Ichigo’s total system shutdown in the slightest. Either Ishida is a _very_ talented actor or a total sociopath because there’s no way he can’t see why the situation should be extraordinarily upsetting. Ichigo has never been jilted before so he’s not sure what the protocol is supposed to be but anger seems like a reasonable response.

“You son of a bitch,” he darkly accuses.

“Excuse me?”

“I can’t believe you, Ishida! Of all the people you could go after right in fucking front of me, you pick _my ex_?”

Crossing his arms defensively, Ishida argues, “He went after me, not the other way around.”

“Yeah, and I said he’d make a hard pass at you, didn’t I?”

“Stop overreacting already. I didn’t realize he was off-limits, all right?”

His gaze drifted askance as he spoke but it snaps right back to Ichigo when his shirts are gripped in tight fists. “So, is he just your type? Is that why you didn’t reject him like you rejected me, cold-hearted bastard?”

Surprise and confusion disrupt his placid countenance. “Are you still hung up on that? I told you I don’t date co-workers.”

Having the fact that Ishida does not feel the same way about him callously thrown in his face breaks something fragile inside of Ichigo. He shoves Ishida against the wall with enough force to send his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, just like that day in the training room with Hisagi. He’s pretty much instantly ashamed of his behavior but he can’t control it. There’s an aching wound in his stomach and a sinister voice in the back of his mind telling him the only way to get rid of the pain is by transferring it to Ishida.

“Oh, you don’t date co-workers? No, you just fuck with their heads and laugh about it later. That’s your M.O., isn’t it? You like to leave a bloody trail of broken hearts wherever you go.”

“Kurosaki, calm the hell down!” he snarls, gripping Ichigo’s wrists firmly enough to restrict circulation, but he doesn’t tear him off yet. Probably more worried about hurting his precious clothes than someone’s feelings. “I’m not in the mood for one of your juvenile tantrums.”

“You’re not in the mood? Well, what gets you in the mood, Ishida?” Leaning in close to his face, Ichigo’s features twist harsh and disparaging as he challenges, “Sadists like Grimmjaw do it for you? Like it rough, huh? Clever as you are, I bet you wanna be punished ‘cause deep down you know you deserve it.”

He realizes he went a tad too far when Ishida ferociously squeezes and rotates his wrists. Fingers gone numb from the shock to his nerve centers, Ichigo releases his grasp against his will. Ishida slams him up against the opposite wall and holds him by the jaw so Ichigo can’t look away or interrupt his scorching rejoinder.

“You are an utter fucking imbecile if you actually believe any of that nonsense, so quit being so god damned dramatic!” He tries to jerk his jaw free so he can snipe back at him but Ishida just knocks his head against the wall in warning. “When did I break your heart, Kurosaki? Was it that time you publicly interrogated me about my health concerns? Or when you tried to humiliate me on set? Or how about the night you and Lisa coerced me into doing another film with you? No, it had to be the day you paid me the highest compliment a porn star can get and told me _a kiss is like a handshake_.”

By the end of it, Ichigo is a little less inclined to keep trading jabs with him. It sounds unnervingly akin to a list of times he broke _Ishida’s_ heart, rather than the reverse. To make matter worse, Ichigo gets the impression there are many more examples he’s generously omitting.

“Ishida, I—”

“Shut up,” he commands, clenching his fingers harder until Ichigo is certain he will have five dark dots decorating his chin tomorrow. “You want to know what does it for me that desperately? If you’re so curious, I’ll tell you: meaningless sex that doesn’t lead to an inevitably doomed relationship. That’s what really turns me on.”

Whatever expression Ichigo is making convinces him it’s safe to let go. With the final word won, Ishida starts to turn and walk away.

Except Ichigo doesn’t let him. He pulls Ishida back around and buries a hand in his hair before mashing their lips together.

Although Ichigo fully expects vengeful retaliation in hindsight, he didn’t know what he was going to do until it’s already done. And the instant their mouths touch, he is in heaven. It’s worth it. However Ishida wants to punish him for overstepping, he knows he deserves it and he doesn’t care. Ichigo would do it again in a second just for this tiny speck of bliss.

Ishida breaks the kiss not to beat him senseless, but to bite his lip and suck away the sting.

The floodgates burst and Ichigo drowns in it. Pushing and pulling, nipping and licking, kissing and kissing over and over until he couldn’t keep his hands to himself if Ishida were equipped with a meat cleaver and the will to use it. Ichigo’s palms slip under fabric and glide over hot, smooth skin. Ishida tugs spiky locks and rolls his hips against Ichigo’s demandingly. _Make me feel good_ , Ishida’s body is provoking him, _don’t let me regret this_.

If the cost is pleasure without emotion, Ichigo will pay it. Not gladly, but he will.

He takes Ishida by the hips and pivots to pin him against the wall, wedging a thigh between his. The breathy moan he gives from the friction sounds relieved and distraught in equal measure. It’s the same fire inside Ichigo that warms as it spreads, making them frantic for more even at the risk of burning to ash.

The way Ishida’s hand curves around and gently caresses the back of his neck as they kiss makes Ichigo dizzy with desire because it doesn’t feel meaningless. It feels very deliberate, very _giving_ when Ishida just declared he only intends to take.

Suddenly, Ichigo is struck by the epiphany that his entire policy is probably a lie. Whatever skeletons are stored in his closet that would make him this adamant about staying single compose the armor he wears to feel secure. Courtesy is his shield and cruelty is a weapon he wields to hold others at bay. Maybe Ishida even resents him for unbalancing his carefully calculated worldview. Ichigo forced his way into Ishida’s life, then made him crave something he had resolved to abstain from. Now, to add insult to injury, Ichigo is scolding him for resisting temptation.

When his motions begin to lag as he processes these heavy musings, Ishida spins them back around. He attacks Ichigo’s pants and doesn’t rest until he gets access. The sensation of Ishida’s fist pumping him like it’s a race he’s determined to outlast overpowers all other brain waves. Ichigo concentrates on the dance their tongues are doing and endeavors to catch up. Less than fifteen seconds later, he groans at the way Ishida gasps and shivers from having his own erection assertively stroked.

They never stop kissing, even after they start panting for breath and go lightheaded from the deficit. Even after Ichigo moves their hands aside and grinds their slick cocks directly against each other. Even after Ishida loops arms around his shoulders and sets blunt fingernails digging into delicate flesh. Even after they fall into a steady rhythm that feels almost musical in its perfection. Even after Ichigo grips his ass possessively and uses the leverage to thrust that much harder against him. Even after Ishida moans urgently into his mouth, they never stop kissing.

When Ishida comes, he finally breaks the kiss to breathe Ichigo’s name between their lips.

The floor drops out from underneath him. All he can do is cling to Ishida as his anchor because he’s sinking, sinking so fast but the light is blinding. The light is a revelation he doesn’t want to see, doesn’t want to accept when it will only bring him more pain. Yet, all Ichigo knows is pleasure. The pleasure of holding Ishida in his arms and hearing his name in that beautiful voice. And yes, the pleasure of an outstanding orgasm that is lingering in his veins like a guest who isn’t ready to leave.

Ichigo opens his eyes and watches Ishida’s follow a split-second later. Then he smiles almost shyly and Ichigo spoils the miracle with a kiss. His heart will only speed up if he keeps staring at that smile.

He notices Ishida’s glasses are gone but he has no clue where or when they went. For a moment, Ichigo wonders if he blacked out at some point and figures it wouldn’t surprise him one bit if he did; he has never experienced anything as intense as the times he has been with Ishida like this.

Glancing between their bodies, Ichigo self-consciously murmurs, “I haven’t come that fast since I was still a virgin.”

Another miracle occurs when Ishida chuckles and admits, “Neither have I.”

“Here,” he says and whips off his shirt to offer as sacrifice for the sake of sanitation, “use this.”

His arms unwind from around Ichigo’s shoulders to take him up on the offer but he doesn’t step away now that he has no excuse to stay close. Ishida hands the shirt back so Ichigo can take a turn cleaning the mess they made of each other, then pauses to glance up as his fingers finish zipping and buttoning his jeans.

“Kurosaki, this…can’t mean what you seem to want it to.”

“I know.” _I know you’re delusional if you think I’d give up that easily_.

“It’s nothing personal, I just—”

“I said I get it, Ishida.” _I get that you’ve got baggage but who doesn’t?_

“I hope you understand I never intended to lead you on.”

“Yeah, I do.” _I understand you’re sort of socially inept for someone who interprets and portrays emotions for a living._

“I would hate for this to jeopardize our working relationship.”

“It won’t.” _It won’t because I’m a great actor, too_.

He stares doubtfully at Ichigo as though intuiting his clandestine half of their conversation. The things he won’t say are possibly the same things Ishida wishes he would while being terrified that he will.

Looking away and stepping back at last, he quietly asserts, “This won’t happen again.”

_Oh, hell no_. “Ishida—”

“It’s my fault for allowing this to happen in the first place, but it can’t continue.” In an even softer voice, he says, “I’m sorry, Kurosaki.”

Summer is his favorite season. Not only because his birthday is in July, but also because he loves color.

The sun is at its strongest in summer, highlighting the dazzling spectrum of natural beauty all around them. Lime green grass, vivid gold sunflowers, rich violet lilies, sleek slate cormorants, healthy crimson roses, dusky emerald leaves, mellow russet bark, pale ivory cranes, yellow-striped bees, sparkly sapphire rivers, and vibrant orange butterflies to name a few. He swears if he didn’t have a knack for songwriting he would’ve been another kind of artist anyway.

The sky is so endlessly blue. Ichigo thinks about the blue streaks in Lisa’s hair that matched the blue of Ishida’s undershirt at the concert and wonders if he subconsciously wore a blue top today because of it.

He sighs inwardly and pushes himself to run faster. The whole point of going for a jog through the park is to get his mind off certain complicated topics he’s been wasting way too much brainpower on lately.

“Are you tryin’ to make this a marathon, or what?”

Slowing a little to accommodate his out-of-practice jogging partner, he says, “Sorry. Got sidetracked.”

“Don’t people usually _slow down_ when they get sidetracked?”

Renji is breathing harder than he really should be at this pace. Ichigo blames Rukia for not letting her man get out more often.

“Go complain to your wife if you can’t keep up,” he taunts good-naturedly. “She’s the reason you’re becoming a pudgy homebody.”

“Who the hell are you calling pudgy!?” Trying to outpace Ichigo in revenge, he gives up after several meters when he starts puffing like an agitated rhino. “Ugh. You wouldn’t stand a chance if I had as much free time as you.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself.” He dodges an elbow jab and laughs at the perturbed scrunch to Renji’s features. It’s not as fun as teasing Ishida, though. The instant he thinks it, his mood plummets all over again. “Hey, I’ve got a serious question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“If Rukia had said ‘no’ when you asked her out, what would you have done?”

Renji snorts. “She did say ‘no’. I just asked her again.”

“That’s it? You just kept asking until she caved and agreed to date your lame ass?”

“Oi!”

He pushes Ichigo sideways this time, making him hurdle a low shrub to keep from crashing into it.

“Well, don’t give shitty advice and I won’t call you lame,” he says as he falls back into step beside Renji. “I’m pretty sure that kinda stubbornness would just make things worse in my case.”

“Wait, what are we talking about?”

Since Ichigo can tell his workout buddy is struggling to hold a conversation at this speed, he slows to a leisurely trot in the hopes that Renji might actually have helpful input.

“I don’t know if Rukia mentioned this at all but I met this guy through work and—”

“Is it that ‘Ishida Uryuu’ dude?” Ichigo’s expression answers for him. “The drama between you two was basically all she _would_ talk about for a couple weeks.”

“Figures.” Renji rolls his eyes, indicating he’s had more than enough of that subject for one lifetime, but Ichigo forges on. “What she probably doesn’t know is I asked him out almost two months ago.”

“Shot ya down, huh? Can’t blame him.”

It’s Ichigo’s turn to shove him off the path. Lacking any semblance of natural grace, Renji stumbles over a tree’s exposed roots before rushing up to aim a whack at the back of his head. He misses.

“Yeah, he shot me down,” Ichigo grumbles, not hiding the fact that he’s sore about it. “Twice, actually.”

“Sounds like you should cut your losses and leave him alone. Is he really worth the effort?”

“Was Rukia?”

That gets his attention like their play-fighting couldn’t. He draws to a halt on the path and catches his breath as he stares at Ichigo.

“You’re that serious about him?”

“Maybe?” He shrugs, mopping up sweat with a small towel. “I don’t know.”

“This isn’t a ‘maybe, I don’t know’ type of discussion, idiot. Either you’re crazy about him or you’re just plain crazy.”

“Listen, I didn’t ask to be psychoanalyzed. All I wanna know is what you’d do if the person you liked acted as if they wanted nothing to do with you, even though you were pretty sure they liked you back?” The dumbfounded look on Renji’s face is not encouraging. Ichigo sighs and dismisses, “Never mind. Should’ve known better than to ask you for dating tips when everyone knows Rukia was the one who had the guts to propose.”

Renji growls and wrangles him into a headlock. He ignores Ichigo’s struggling as he doles out dubious wisdom. “You’re both adults, ain’t ya? Have you even tried askin’ him why he keeps rejectin’ you? Maybe he’s got a legit reason.”

Finally overthrowing Renji’s hold, he straightens and scowls. “You say it like it’s so simple but if you knew Ishida you’d get why I can’t just walk up and ask ‘hey, why won’t you go out with me?’ and expect a straight answer.”

“You could always wait,” he suggests in a sardonic tone. “He might come around on his own eventually, if he gets desperate enough.”

Throwing up his hands, Ichigo snaps, “Forget I ever brought it up.”

He takes off down the path again, leaving Renji to give chase or not. Considering how his own mind has been berating his stupidity since that incident in the hallway after the concert, Ichigo really doesn’t need one of his trusted friends confirming his misgivings.

“This guy is a porn star, too, right?” asks Renji when he catches up.

“Yeah. So?”

“I’ve heard enough gossip from Rukia to realize most of ‘em tend to be less choosy about who they get with and more, uh…”

“Slutty?” An awkward side glance at Ichigo confirms he nailed the sentiment. He repeats, “Yeah. So?”

“ _So_ , instead of winin’ and dinin’, try a different approach.”

Snickering at Renji’s palpable discomfort, he candidly asks, “Are you telling me to seduce him with sex?”

“Well, that’s your specialty, ain’t it!?” His blaring volume is a pitiful cover for how much he doesn’t want to talk about this. “Get him to go for a casual thing as your ‘in’, then worry about the rest later.”

‘The rest’, Ichigo infers, is emotional intimacy and everything else that usually goes alongside a standard romantic relationship. The only problem is he’s not convinced Ishida is capable of warming up to ‘the rest’ with Ichigo in particular.

“Guess I’ll never know if I don’t try,” he mutters more to himself. “Ishida did say he prefers no-strings flings.”

“There you go.”

Tilting his head to appraise Renji, he says, “All right, I take it back. You’re not a total lame-ass after all. Just a partial one.”

Ichigo grins as he evades a wide swipe that puts Renji off balance and sends him sprawling into a patch of daisies.

He stands in the studio with arms pensively crossed, nodding his head and tapping his fingers to the beat of their latest playback. It’s good. The song they’ve been ceaselessly working on recording all morning long is really good.

Yet, for some reason, “Let’s do the second part of the bridge one more time,” Ishida says to the group as a whole. “I’m still not getting the vibrato right; it’s always been my weak point.”

Of course, nobody complains because the longer they fiddle with the fine details, the more time they can spend with their precious guest vocalist. Riruka is basically a puddle of euphoric goo by now, Grimm is salivating like a starving panther, and Chad could care less about any of it but he’ll be the last person to complain. The technician is getting paid to be there so she doesn’t give a crap, either. Which just leaves Ichigo, antsy over the plan he’s been impatiently waiting to implement but can’t until they’re done.

“Your vibrato is great, Ishida. The single is just freaking great. Do you have to be such a perfectionist with _everything_ you do?”

Ichigo’s eye twitches when he is universally ignored. Evidently, his input is worthless. That’s cool. He’s only the one who wrote the damn song in the first place, but hey—cool as a cucumber over here.

They start to file back into the booth without their drummer, no big deal. Riruka pauses in the doorway to threaten, “Get your ass in here, Kurosaki, or I’ll chain you to your stupid drum set.”

“Why don’t we let him sing by himself? We can just edit the track with his new vocals in post.”

“Post-production is for sellouts,” sneers Grimmjaw. “All that digital shit is just ruinin’ music these days.”

“Tell that to the massively popular spectrum of EDM and dubstep artists.”

“Well, we ain’t EDM or dubstep, so hoof it.”

Exhaling a mighty sigh of frustration and mental fatigue, Ichigo drops his arms to his sides and shuffles into the booth.

They do one more take from beginning to end and go back out to listen with the technician. He literally can’t tell a difference in the bridge before versus after. Ishida must have some kind of obsessive psychosis because the song is _fine_. When he nitpicks what should’ve been the final take ten takes ago, Ichigo’s temper bursts like the blood vessel throbbing in his forehead is trying to do.

“Look, you’ve got the creator’s official seal of approval on this song. What the hell else do you need!?”

Riruka mutters, “Somebody’s hangry…”

“She has a point.” Only the fact that it’s Chad backing her up keeps Ichigo from screeching bloody murder. “Maybe we should break for lunch?”

Since no one dissents, the motion is silently passed and they segue into a discussion on ideal restaurants. He goes to Ishida, texting over by the window, and takes a breath to dampen his antagonism as much as possible.

“Come with me for lunch. There’s a decent sushi place one block over I bet you’ll like.”

Glancing at Ichigo for half a second, he says, “Pass,” and goes back to his messages.

“I’ll treat you, all right? As thanks for agreeing to feature on our single.”

He doesn’t even bother to look away from his phone as he declines again, “I’m not hungry, Kurosaki.”

“We’ve all been here nearly five hours—Everyone’s hungry!” The slightest eye roll is Ishida’s sole response. “There’s something I wanna talk to you about. It’s important.”

His phone is finally lowered on the latter phrase. At least he still has enough respect for Ichigo to take him seriously on occasion.

“Very well,” he states, not sounding overjoyed about the prospect. “Lead the way.”

They get within three meters of the exit and Grimm demands, “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

“None of your business,” Ichigo proclaims over his shoulder. “Don’t follow us!”

Riruka pipes up next, “Why do you get to hog Ishida-kun?”

“Oh, my god, you guys he’s not a puppy we’re passing around so everybody can get equal time to play with him.”

Every pair of eyes in the room stares at Ichigo like he’s Japan’s biggest moron. Especially Ishida, who looks ready to karate chop some sense into him for daring to think up such a demeaning analogy. Rather than listen to any more of their whining, Ichigo hurriedly herds his lunch date out the door.

He doesn’t attempt to butter Ishida up on the walk to his favorite sushi place. It won’t work anyway and he’d rather use the time to secretly rehearse what he wants to say. Ichigo has had all weekend to deliberate on whether or not Renji’s shady advice is worth taking. His ultimate conclusion was that he’d give it a shot since he didn’t have a better idea of his own. All he has to lose is the remainder of his dignity when he gets rejected for a third time. What could go wrong?

The lone chef manning the counter greets them enthusiastically when they walk inside. There are a few patrons scattered around the small space but it’s mostly quiet. It tends to be and that’s one of the things Ichigo appreciates about the joint.

“Order whatever but I recommend the yellowtail nigirizushi,” he says as they sit at the far end of the counter, furthest from the businessman day-drinking on the opposite side.

“I’ll take that under advisement.”

The relaxing atmosphere makes it easier to wind down after a stressful morning. Ichigo takes in the familiar sights, smells, and sounds of a restaurant he has visited many times in the past. Oddly enough, he has never brought anyone outside of the band here before. In a sense, he was keeping it to himself. A hidden treasure only he could enjoy. But he is eager to share one of his ‘happy places’ with Ishida, and maybe also a tiny bit proud for having discovered it.

Ichigo waits until after their food is ordered and served to broach the tricky subject.

“I’ve been thinking about what went down between us at the concert,” he soberly begins, “and all that stuff you said about not wanting a relationship.”

Ishida halts in the process of raising a piece of sashimi with his chopsticks to interject, “Kurosaki, I don’t—”

“Listen, can you just hear me out for once? Please.” They call it the ‘magic word’ for a reason because this is twice now it has managed to calm Ishida as if by a spell. “I’m sure you have your reasons for staying solitary. You don’t have to tell me. I just wanted you to know I’d be fine with keeping it casual if it means we can see each other more often; I’m sick of waiting weeks between shoots to be with you.”

Taking a sip of tea, he murmurs around the rim of his mug, “I didn’t realize I was so high on your list of preferred partners.”

Ichigo laughs in an exasperated sort of way. “Ishida, you _are_ the list.”

He takes a bite and steadily chews as he mulls that over—trying to act impassive but he’s so pale even the faintest flush is noticeable. His eyes meet Ichigo’s, only to dart away again.

“It’s not a good idea.”

“Why not?”

Instead of answering that valid question, Ishida asks, “Is it the ‘forbidden fruit’ aspect that you find so irresistible? You seem precisely the type to want something more when you’re told you can’t have it.”

“Nah, your insanely hot body and all the things you can do with it are what I find irresistible.” Smirking to see his blush intensify, Ichigo adds, “Your personality’s not awful, either, but that doesn’t matter as much if we’re opting for strictly sexual terms.”

His voice oozes sarcasm as he replies, “How could I resist such a charming proposition?”

“Just think about it, smartass.” Holding out an upturned palm toward Ishida, he says, “Actually, let me give you my number so you can call when you realize what an incredible idea this is.”

The set of Ichigo’s features broadcasts flawless confidence but he is trying not to clench his jaw from trepidation. Although he’s not asking for a ‘yes’ right now, if Ishida won’t even take his number it’s still a passive ‘no’. He has nothing to lose by accepting Ichigo’s contact info. The only reason he would refuse is if he has already made up his mind one hundred percent against ever taking him up on the proposal.

After a soul-withering pause, Ishida pulls his phone from a pocket and hands it over.

Ichigo disguises his relieved exhale as an interested hum because his cell doesn’t have a lock screen, which seems antithetical for someone so habitually guarded. He adds the new contact with his name and number, plus a winky emoji Ishida will see whenever he calls…if he ever gets to call. He gives a ‘really, Kurosaki?’ look when his phone is passed back but he doesn’t object.

They eat in semi-silence for a while. A local alt-rock station is playing low in the background and he is reminded of the way Ishida always closes his eyes to devote total concentration when listening to the track they’re recording. Ichigo’s ulterior motives aside, his temper never really got close to boiling earlier because Ishida’s devotion to making the best contribution he can is a wicked compliment. It suggests he isn’t just doing Ichigo or the others a favor. He genuinely cares about maintaining their level of artistic integrity and takes pride in being a part of that process.

Because Ishida is a _fan_. He still can’t get over that.

“Sore shoulders?”

“Huh?” Ichigo doesn’t realize he has been absentmindedly rubbing one of them until it’s mentioned. “Oh, yeah, I guess. Playing in the studio sorta makes me tense. More pressure to get it right or whatever.”

He doesn’t give it a moment’s thought when Ishida stands up—assuming he’s headed to the restroom or something—but he just about chokes on his ebi maki to feel fingers kneading into aching muscles. Ichigo splutters a fragmented question as his face heats in bewildered pleasure.

“It’s my fault you’ve had to spend so much time in the studio today,” says Ishida like it’s the most logical thing in the world, “and I’ve been told I’m a decent masseuse. Problem, meet solution.”

_Wow_ , Ichigo thinks as his eyes slide shut on their own, _no kidding_.

It doesn’t occur to him to be concerned about onlookers until he hears the chef’s knife chopping against a wooden cutting board not too far from where they’re seated. While one guy giving a shoulder rub to another isn’t exactly lewd, he has been exposed to enough prejudice over the years to figure this probably isn’t the place for it.

“Um, Ishida? As much as I’m really, _really_ enjoying this maybe it should wait ‘til we’re not in public?”

“Relax,” he persuades and starts squeezing harder so that Ichigo has to swallow a grateful groan. “The owner won’t mind: he’s gay.”

“How do you know?”

The response he expects is a long-winded rationalization involving stuff like mannerisms, choice of clothing, speech pattern and inflection. Ishida can probably walk into a place and read the air like a live stream in ways plebs like Ichigo could never dream of accomplishing.

What he is absolutely _not_ expecting is, “We hooked up at a club once.”

It startles a laugh from him that doesn’t make their amiable activity any more covert. The way Ishida is vigorously massaging out every last kink from neck and shoulders makes it impossible to feel embarrassed. At this point, Ichigo just hopes he won’t be finished anytime soon.

“Damn,” he breathes, letting his head rest atop folded arms. “You’ve been to this restaurant before, haven’t you? And here I thought I was enriching your life or some noble shit like that.”

There is a soft laugh behind him. Then, right beside his ear, “You are.”

_Oh, fuck me_ , he thinks as Ishida’s indulgent tone makes him shiver, _is he trying to get me hard right now?_

Ichigo bites his lip against the urge to invite him into the bathroom and wills his blood to cool instead. If Ishida wanted a quickie, he wouldn’t hesitate to ask. It’s more likely he’s trying to get under Ichigo’s skin, though he doesn’t know what he did to piss Ishida off lately. Besides, this would be a weird way to go about it. Aside from some minor discomfort due to tight jeans, Ichigo isn’t exactly suffering here.

A stray notion plunks into his heart like an arrow of piercing truth: what if this is just how Ishida acts when he’s _not_ pissed off!?

“You two want an order of hot sake?” the chef-slash-owner, apparently, teases when he notices how Ichigo is practically drooling on the counter. “Perhaps some eel?”

Hah! As if he needs an aphrodisiac with Ishida around.

“Sorry,” Ichigo apologizes. Yet, the owner’s smile makes it clear he really doesn’t mind. To Ishida, he says, “We should probably head back soon. I’m surprised those punks aren’t blowing up my phone asking what’s taking us so long.”

He doesn’t respond right away, but his magnificent hands disappear from where they were just smoothing up and down Ichigo’s back.

“Thanks for the delicious meal, Shizuka-san,” he says after knocking back the last of his tea. “You never disappoint.”

“Anytime, Ishida-kun.”

Blocking out how their familiarity irritates him a little, Ichigo pays as promised and leads the way back to the studio.

It takes them another hour to call it good on the single but he’s fresh out of protests. Since he said his piece at the restaurant, there’s nothing to rush about. He’s right on board with the rest of the team’s ‘lollygag with Ishida’ initiative now. Plus, he’s still reeling from the revelation that Ishida might actually be warming up to him. Ichigo wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he suddenly started acting _nice_.

They’re all sitting in the studio’s lounge area chatting about the potential for future collaborations when he gets an email alert. It’s a message from Tatsuki that she forwarded from Yoruichi, which can only mean one thing.

“Hey, Ishida,” he begins, then glances up to see him checking his phone, too. “Lisa?”

Tapping briefly, he pockets his cell and meets Ichigo’s gaze from his spot on the adjacent sofa to confirm, “It seems Urahara-san finally finished the new script.”

Riruka and Grimm halt in the middle of a mini-spat they were having to pay avid attention, eyes bouncing between co-stars as they discuss this exciting development.

“Are you gonna read it?”

“Later.”

“Why not now?”

“Because I want to read it later, Kurosaki.”

“At least read the summary.”

“No need.”

So, Ishida’s pissed after all. “You won’t even give it a chance? I thought you were done vetoing projects on my account.”

“I am.”

“Then read the damn summary before you send Yoruichi-san your reply.”

“Again, no need.”

In the name of all that is hot and sweaty, why does he have to be so _stubborn_? “You already turned it down, didn’t you? I swear, Ishida, you—”

“Just the opposite.”

“Wait, what?” Ichigo blurts as Riruka squeals with glee and kicks her feet like a kid.

Grimmjaw shoots him a disgusted look and brags, “Saw that comin’ a mile away. You’re dense as hell, Deathberry.”

Ichigo scoffs to cover for the way he’s blushing because it’s kind of true. “Fuck you.”

“No, fuck _him_ ,” Grimm amends with a dirty leer, “and call me when you do so I can watch.”


	8. Nine in the Afternoon

This year’s birthday is as exhausting as ever.

Ichigo decides he has too many fucking friends—pun intended for a change—when he can’t go five seconds without someone walking up to start a conversation. His flat is more spacious than most in this compact-happy country, but it wasn’t built to hold upwards of three or four dozen people comfortably. He blames Rukia for organizing a surprise party for him in the first place.

At least the cake Kira baked is amazing, he thinks as he chomps away at his second piece of the evening. But he almost spits out a mouthful of moist crumbs when someone abruptly bumps into him.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Kurosaki-kun!” cries a girl with long auburn hair and large blue-grey eyes. She looks familiar but he can’t quite place her.

Before he can respond, Rukia pops out of nowhere to reassure, “Don’t worry, Orihime-chan! No sane red-blooded male would get upset about you bumping into them.”

Ah, Inoue Orihime, that’s her name. She’s part of Urahara’s set crew. “Yeah, no harm done,” Ichigo agrees. After a closer look at her, he asks, “You feeling okay? Your face is all red.”

“I-I’m fine! I might’ve had a little too much to drink, that’s all!” Then she laughs awkwardly and scampers out of sight somewhere in the crowd.

“We should probably tell Yumichika to quit mixing the drinks so strong,” he warns Rukia. “Are we sure Grimm didn’t slip anything illegal into the punch?”

“She’s not inebriated, idiot, she’s head-over-heels for you.”

Ichigo fixes a dubious glare on her as he argues, “We’ve only spoken a handful of times. I barely know her name.”

“Well, she definitely knows yours,” Rukia states with emphatic eyebrows. “Anyway, I came over to tell you Renji had to leave early but he left your present on the coffee table.”

“It’s probably gonna explode or something as soon as I open it, so I’ll just wait ‘til later.”

She gives him a dark look for slandering her husband but doesn’t discount the possibility. “Have you seen Ishida-kun at all tonight?”

“You invited him?”

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I?”

He opens his mouth to explain how she wasted her time because Ishida would never attend a party thrown specifically for Ichigo, but yet another guest picks that moment to butt in.

“Did I just hear you mention _the_ Ishida Uryuu?”

Here’s another dude Ichigo can’t remember right off the top of his head—which is pretty sad since he has bubble gum pink hair, ornate silver glasses, and vivid amber eyes. You’d think he could recall someone with such a flamboyant aesthetic. He’s worse than Yumichika!

“Do I know you?”

“Oh, how hurtful, Kurosaki-san!” Flashing him a mischievous grin, he says, “I’m only joking. We haven’t formally met, I’m afraid. Szayel-Apollo Granz, at your service.”

Ichigo glances at the woman who invited this nut for elucidation. Rukia hesitantly explains, “Granz-san works with Urahara-san on some of his more fringe films. You know, the types of projects Halibel-san specializes in.”

Comprehension dawns at the mention of the adult industry’s best known dominatrix. So, this guy is probably into BDSM and all that jazz, which is likely the reason Ichigo hasn’t met him. Although he tried out various ‘fringe’ themes with Grimmjaw in the privacy of the punk rocker’s garage-esque studio apartment, he has never been captivated enough by the hardcore scene to actually star in one of those kinds of movies.

“Our Urahara-san does dare to dabble in the darker side of sexuality on occasion,” Granz charmingly relates, running a hand through his layered bangs for dramatic flair. “When I heard most of his crew was coming to an exclusive party, I just had to get an invite of my own.”

“Sorry if it’s not as glamorous as you were expecting.” With a gesture to Rukia, he adds, “This little maniac just loves to embarrass me each year by rounding up everyone I know and packing them into my place for a few hours like sloshed sardines.”

Granz chuckles and waves his hand with a flourish. “Not at all. I’m having a _grand_ time, truly.”

Does Ichigo just attract these weirdos like magnets, or what? “Cool. So, uh, why were you asking about Ishida?”

“To be honest, I was hoping to beg a very _small_ favor. You see, Ishida-san is a positively _perfect_ fit for the role I’ve been trying to fill _desperately_ , and word on the grapevine says the two of you have recently become practically _inseparable_. Is there any chance you could sway his opinion just a smidge? All I need is one _short_ meeting with him, if you could find it in your heart to help out a fellow adult entertainment enthusiast. I would be _eternally_ grateful, Kurosaki-san.”

What is up with this smarmy guy emphasizing every other damn word? Ichigo already doesn’t like him but he says, “Sure, I’ll see what I can do,” just to get him to go away.

“I do _so_ appreciate your consideration.” The width and wattage of Granz’ smile sends a creepy chill down his spine. He hands Ichigo a lurid fuchsia business card with embossed red lettering. “And happy birthday!”

“Thanks…”

As soon as Granz sashays off, he scowls at Rukia.

“Well, I didn’t invite him! He must’ve sneaked in as somebody’s plus-one.”

Ichigo brandishes the business card at her like it’s contaminated and commands, “Burn this.”

“Now, don’t be hasty. How do you know Ishida-kun wouldn’t be interested in the role?”

Nose scrunching in displeasure, he retorts, “Have you met Ishida? Does he really seem like the type to enjoy being tied up and whacked with random crap while some cotton candy-headed freakshow gets his jollies by berating him?”

Rukia’s cheeks puff petulantly as she snatches the card from the loose pinch of his thumb and index finger. “Not all BDSM flicks are like that, you know.”

“Just get rid of it, will you?”

She huffs and stalks off to deal with the biohazard as requested, leaving him to wade back into social waters unattended.

A couple of hours later, people finally start to go home. It takes a while for the last gaggle of sauced partygoers to find their wobbly way into the hall until only Rukia and Rangiku are left. He’s not sure why Rangiku is hanging around but he knows it’s not to help clean up.

His curiosity is piqued when Rukia tells her, “I think it’s safe now. The apartment’s all-clear.”

“Safe?” Ichigo asks. “What is she, my bodyguard?”

Both women laugh, further confusing him. Rangiku fits a palm against his cheek and teases, “We do this for you every year and you just noticed? Our sexy airhead’s all grown up!”

“Who are you calling an ‘airhead’?” he gripes, brushing her arm aside. “Rukia, what’s she talking about?”

“She’s talking about the fact that we always have to herd a bunch of horny men and women out of your place at the end of the night because they’re all scheming to sleep with you on your birthday.”

“Wow. Okay, that’s…Damn.”

He starts to ask ‘why Rangiku’ but one glance at her voluptuous, self-assured figure is answer enough. Not many would throw their hat in with hers for a contest of sex appeal.

“See?” Rukia chirps and pats his shoulder patronizingly. “Told you he had no clue.”

“All right, comedy hour’s over. Beat it.”

They file out without a fight, bidding him a very happy rest of his birthday, and Ichigo grumbles something vaguely appreciative. He shuts the door and locks it firmly, leaning against its solid surface as he releases a long sigh. His friends are great. Really, they are, and he’s so fortunate to have so many great people in his life. But seeing them all at once is a tiny bit stressful when he hasn’t even had that much to drink. Not enough, he reckons as he raids the kitchen island bearing about twenty different bottles of liquor.

Swiping one at random, he collapses onto his couch and takes a swig straight from the bottle. Tequila. Blech. Where’s a lemon wedge when he needs one?

Ichigo kicks up his feet and relaxes against the armrest to stare at his ceiling. In retrospect, having Rukia and Rangiku secretly protect him from getting molested on his birthday is hilarious. He starts to chuckle about it but stops when he realizes there’s only one person he wouldn’t mind getting molested by any day of the year. Rubbing wearily at his face, he wills himself not to think what he’s about to think but it’s like a train wreck that simply can’t be reversed once set into motion.

This party would’ve gone a lot differently if Ishida accepted the invitation.

And Ichigo kind of hates himself for how much he’s been brooding over the fact that he hasn’t gotten one single call from the man. It hasn’t even been that long since he gave his number to Ishida but every day it doesn’t happen makes him a little more depressed.

There’s a knock at the door and he has a sinking feeling he knows who it is.

Taking a nice, long draught of bitter alcohol, Ichigo gets up to face the music.

“Hi, Ichigo!”

“Hey, Nel.”

As usual, her eyes well within seconds of meeting his. She holds out a carefully wrapped present and cries, “Happy birthday!”

“Thanks,” he says as he accepts her gift. “Have you been doing all right, Nel?” She nods vigorously but can’t seem to find her voice under the weight of her delight. “Glad to hear it. You should get home soon, though. It’s late.”

She nods again but doesn’t turn to go. Ichigo already knows why. The way Nel melts against him when he pulls her into a light hug stirs mixed emotions. This sort of thing definitely won’t help her get past the whole obsessive-stalker issue, but at the same time Ichigo can’t bear to send her away without acknowledging the strength of her feelings for him somehow. It kills him to know she’s suffering with this one-sided infatuation that he can’t alleviate or accept. All he can do is wait for her to grow past it.

“Thank you, Ichigo,” she murmurs into his shirt. “Goodnight.”

Then she slips free to run down the hall toward the elevator.

“Night,” he whispers as an afterthought.

Ichigo returns to his couch and his tequila, setting Nel’s box next to Renji’s. Sometimes it seems like he causes more harm than good for the people around him. Maybe he should become a monk. Bury himself in the cloisters of some obscure monastery where no one can lust after or fall in love with him because he sure isn’t itching to fall for anyone.

There’s another knock at the door several minutes later and this time he’s stumped. Must be someone who forgot their coat or something, he guesses on the way to answer it.

Maybe he had too much to drink after all, because he swears the person on his doorstep is, “Ishida?”

“Happy birthday, Kurosaki.”

“Thanks, but you kinda missed the par—”

His heart goes into overdrive from the shock of Ishida flinging himself against Ichigo, immediately followed by aggressive kissing. The momentum compromises his balance and the only reason he doesn’t drop right on his ass is due to a convenient wall Ishida helpfully traps him against. He’s burning hot and he smells like himself plus his favorite cologne—which has become Ichigo’s favorite cologne by association.

It’s _so good_ and he melts against Ishida just as readily as Nel melted against him. But his one hang-up is, “You taste like bourbon.”

“You taste like tequila,” he counters and sucks hard at the pulse point in Ichigo’s throat.

He moans and pulls Ishida tighter to him. “Are you supposed to be my present?”

The way he laughs triggers a small alarm in Ichigo’s mind. There’s nothing wrong with the laugh itself, it just isn’t Ishida’s laugh. At least not his _sober_ laugh.

“Only if we can get naked before midnight. Otherwise, I might turn into a pumpkin. Oh, wait…too late.”

It’s funny, but it’s not so funny that he should be giggling like he’s a skipped dose away from totally unhinged. Besides that, Ishida does not _giggle_ and he’d say so himself under normal circumstances.

“Are you drunk?”

“Mm, wouldn’t come if I didn’t drink,” he says as he kisses a path up Ichigo’s neck to an ear. “Too nervous.”

“Nervous? What’s there to be nervous about?”

“Nice try, Kurosaki.” Nipping his ear reproachfully, Ishida claims, “I’m not _that_ drunk.” Ichigo isn’t so sure about that. Especially when Ishida plucks disdainfully at the buttons of his shirt. “FYI, I can’t stand buttons,” he growls and roughly rips Ichigo’s shirt flaps apart, sending the offensive bits of plastic scattering in every direction.

“The hell, Ishida?” He can’t stay mad when his bared chest is being felt up and more of those sucking kisses are swift to follow. “On a scale of ‘ready and willing’ to ‘accidental date-rape’, how drunk are you?”

He laughs again but doesn’t answer. The fact that he doesn’t answer tells Ichigo he isn’t taking the question seriously, and the fact that he’s not taking it seriously is worrying. Pushing Ishida back to get a proper peek at his face, Ichigo decides he’s not okay with how heavy-lidded his eyes look when they’ve barely had any foreplay.

Ishida goes in for another kiss and makes an irritated noise when he evades. “Are you gonna fuck me or not?”

It’s subtle but his speech pattern is lazier than it should be, too, and Ichigo laments his entire existence as he makes a responsible decision.

“Absolutely. Right after you sober up. Like, a lot.”

“Kurosaki~,” he whines—freaking _whines_ —and any doubts that Ishida is too far gone for genuine consent fly straight out the window.

“Are you evil or what?” accuses Ichigo as he grabs Ishida’s wrist and drags him toward the bedroom. “Can’t believe you’d throw yourself at me _on my_ _birthday_ knowing I can’t have you when you’re like this. I hope you wake up with the worst hangover of your life.”

“That’s so mean.”

“Yeah, well you’d deserve it,” Ichigo grumbles and pushes him into the room. “Now, stay in here until you pass out.”

“Where do you think you’re going?” purrs Ishida, wrapping arms around his neck. Ichigo pries them loose and he pouts, “I thought you wanted me…”

“Don’t do that,” he snaps, suddenly angry. “Don’t you fucking do that, Ishida.”

He actually appears taken aback by it, which makes Ichigo feel like an asshole, which makes him even angrier.

“Fine, if you’re gonna be like that I’m going home.”

Blocking Ishida’s exit route, he points out, “I can’t let you leave in this condition. How did you even make it here on your own? Did Lisa drop you off? And where are your glasses?”

Rather than answer Ichigo’s valid questions, he turns away and sullenly mumbles, “If I knew you’d yell at me, I wouldn’t have come.”

He wants to apologize. He wants to touch Ishida’s face and make him understand yelling is the last thing he wants to do. But if Ichigo goes to him in that frame of mind, he’ll say all sorts of things he’s not supposed to. Things that Ishida will resent him for in the morning. Things that will ruin their working relationship permanently. Things that Ichigo doesn’t even want to say to himself.

In the end, all he says is, “Just…sleep it off, okay?” and he shuts the bedroom door.

Cupboard creaking, glass clinking, faucet running, someone sighing. These are the sounds Ichigo wakes to in the morning.

He scrubs tiredly at his eyes before sitting up to confirm what he already knows he will see: Ishida standing in the kitchen chugging a tall glass of water like he just escaped from the desert. Ichigo rises to go prop against the bottle-littered island he purposely keeps between them. After last night, he wouldn’t be surprised if Ishida wanted to deck him, so some precaution can’t hurt.

“Well, you got your wish, Kurosaki.”

The way he massages at his temples with a pained expression makes it clear he’s talking about having ‘the worst hangover of his life’. He goes for a refill of tap water and Ichigo waits until he downs that one, too, before speaking up.

“Sorry about…”

He’s not sure how to phrase it but Ishida catches his drift, nodding a little as he says, “Me, too.”

They could leave it like this. They probably _should_ leave it like this. Exchange shallow pleasantries before going about their day as if nothing unusual happened at all, mutually and wordlessly agreeing to never speak of it again. That would be the mature thing to do.

“Why did you come over last night?” Ichigo asks, thwarting his own resolve not to ask before it’s even fully formed.

Ishida sighs again as he sets his empty glass down and leans against the counter behind him. “Why do you think?”

“Yeah, but why last night, specifically?”

“When I got Kuchiki-san’s invitation, I declined without giving it much thought.” He combs his fingers through disheveled hair and keeps his gaze low. “But knowing it was your birthday, I couldn’t help thinking of you throughout the day and…sometimes thinking leads to wanting. Particularly since you made that proposal at the restaurant.”

“And the drinking?”

Rubbing the back of his neck in a way that makes Ichigo want to offer a massage for no other motive than sympathy, he frowns uncomfortably and shifts his weight from one hip to the other.

“I apologize for my unruly behavior. Regrettably, alcohol has that powerful of an effect on me and I—”

“That’s not what I meant.” Ishida swallows audibly, still not looking at him. “You said you had to drink because you were nervous. Do I make you that nervous? Or is it the idea of having sex off-camera? If this isn’t something you want with me, then…”

Ichigo needs him to jump in with reassurances. To say he does want this and maybe more one day. But Ishida just keeps staring at the floor. Ichigo knows he can be pushy at times but he never imagined he could actually push Ishida to do anything against his will. The thought alone makes his stomach churn.

He leaves the kitchen to spend a few minutes in the bathroom. Splashing his face with cool water and sipping some of it helps with the mild nausea, but not with the major guilt. He half expects Ishida to be gone when he comes out of the bathroom, so it’s not a shock to find the apartment is indeed devoid of reluctant guests.

Or so Ichigo assumes until he walks into his bedroom for a change of clothes.

It feels like a trap has been sprung because Ishida attacks him with a flurry of quick, hungry kisses as he drags Ichigo toward the bed.

“Ishida!” he yelps when he is shoved to the mattress and straddled. “What—”

“No stupid questions.”

Tugging off Ichigo’s de-buttoned shirt, his hands and tongue go exploring with salacious intent.

“Are you sure?” he asks once Ishida breaks for breath.

“What did I just say, Kurosaki?”

“But—”

Another long kiss shuts him up. Ishida really doesn’t seem nervous. If anything, he’s making Ichigo a little nervous. What the hell happened to him between their discussion in the kitchen and now!?

“Don’t try to stop me this time,” Ishida warns him. “It won’t end well for you.”

Raising his eyebrows at that, he still feels compelled to ask, “What about your hangover?”

“I bet your dick can cure it.” He smirks at Ichigo’s wide-eyed reaction. Leaning down to press a suspiciously soft kiss to his lips, he suggests, “If you’re so concerned for my comfort, help me turn the pain into pleasure.”

It’s a reasonable request. One that he’s happy to fulfill but the way Ishida sits up to whip off his shirt and pop open his jeans like they’re on a deadline makes him frown. Ichigo takes gentle hold of his hands to halt their hurried progress.

“So, you’re willing—Point proven. Just slow down for a second, all right?”

Surprisingly, Ishida doesn’t bitch about it. He lets Ichigo roll them over so he can take off Ishida’s pants himself while they kiss. As soon as they’re both naked, Ichigo realizes he still hasn’t had the chance to get his mouth anywhere near Ishida’s cock. That needs to change immediately.

He sucks in a sharp breath as Ichigo starts to suck him off. Ishida has probably had better. This isn’t one of Ichigo’s specialties or anything—unlike Rangiku—but he’s not hearing any complaints. Ishida spreads his legs wider, twisting one hand into the sheets above his head and petting Ichigo’s hair encouragingly with the other. His eyes are clenched shut even as his lips part for more air. Ishida groans quietly and gives a shallow thrust of hips when his balls are rolled in Ichigo’s palm.

The only constructive criticism Ishida has to offer is, “Tug on them a little?”

Another reasonable request Ichigo is happy to fulfill. He knows he’s doing it right by the way Ishida shivers and murmurs something positive, breath speeding even further.

Although Ichigo is trying to take his time and steadily drive him insane with desire, the noises Ishida makes minutes later suggest the end is approaching faster than he’d prefer. Ichigo lets up to flick his tongue teasingly over the tip instead. Ishida twitches with a short hitch of breath every time Ichigo licks the sensitive head.

“Ready to come so soon, Ishida?”

His grip tightens in Ichigo’s hair and he gripes, “I was ready to come _last night_ but someone had to be all gallant and send me to bed unsatisfied.”

He tugs harder on delicate flesh just to hear Ishida gasp. “That’s what you get for teasing me with something I couldn’t have. Do you know how long it took me to fall asleep knowing you were in the next room, horny and pissed off about it?”

Ichigo hears him inhale, gearing up to deliver a scathing retort, but his mouth suddenly sliding all the way to the base knocks that idea right out of Ishida’s brain. He tenses and muffles his moan out of spite, but Ichigo sees how he bites his lip against the rush of pleasure. Ishida is stubbornly trying not to come now, which just amuses Ichigo. He bobs faster, inwardly grinning as Ishida’s brow scrunches and his abs flex.

“Kurosa—” he starts to protest when Ichigo abandons his erection in lieu of a deep kiss. But his fist takes up the slack and Ishida goes rigid as he spills all over his own stomach. “ _God, yes_ ,” he sighs through the aftershocks, rocking sinuously into Ichigo’s grasp.

Releasing an impulsive hold on his arm, Ishida leaves a collection of half-moon indentions behind. Ichigo doesn’t know if he has already picked up on this quaint little kink of his and is doing it on purpose or if Ishida just has a tendency to claw at his lovers, but he’s into it. More than he cares to admit.

“Now will you forgive me for last night?” asks Ichigo between sensual kisses. “Even though it was your own damn fault…”

“Fine, you’re forgiven,” Ishida magnanimously allows. He pushes Ichigo down to brace above him instead. “I’ll even reciprocate since you did a decent job of making it up to me. But the next time I tell you to fuck me—”

“I’ll ask ‘how do you want it, baby?’” he supplies with a snigger.

“Leave out ‘baby’ and we’re in business.”

Already floating on Cloud Nine for the implication of future trysts, he settles deeper into bliss when Ishida settles between his legs. Ichigo doesn’t know if he’s had better. It’s honestly a super tough call because this _is_ one of Ishida’s specialties and he’s putting in extra effort for the occasion. Not that it’s Ichigo’s birthday anymore, technically, but it’s still the reason Ishida happens to be here.

Having just watched his beautiful bedfellow completely lose it under his touch, Ichigo is a lot closer to his climax than he’d like but it can’t be helped. This isn’t a shoot and he’s not obligated to wait for anybody’s cue, so he lets the euphoria wind around and squeeze him senseless.

“Ishida,” he calls and shudders through the resulting responsive hum. “Don’t judge me but I— _Nnh_.” Ichigo moans and arches a bit as his perineum is pressed to tweak his prostate. The epic struggle to finish his sentence is real. “I wanna come on your ass.”

Warm, wet suction disappears and he thinks there’s a fifty-fifty chance Ishida is annoyed.

But he just chuckles and taunts, “You love my ass that much?”

“Hell yes,” Ichigo eagerly confesses, sitting up to give it a doting caress. “Best I’ve ever had.”

“Now that you mention it…” Ishida kisses him messily before declaring, “You’re the best I’ve had, Kurosaki. And I’ve had a lot.” Ecstatic to hear it, he goes in for a celebratory kiss but Ishida says, “Move over.”

Once Ichigo scoots sideways to make room, Ishida gets on elbows and knees and gives him an expectant look over his shoulder. The request he momentarily forgot about zooms back with a vengeance. Ichigo kneels behind and begins stroking himself as he leans down to give each cheek a worshipful kiss. Ishida huffs a gentle laugh and widens his stance invitingly. _Touch if you want to_ , he relays without words. And Ichigo does want to, but if he starts he won’t stop until Ishida is prepped and ready to be taken. The tragedy is Ichigo knows he wouldn’t last long once he was inside.

It’s pathetic how quickly he trips into his orgasm. He has no defense against the devastating imagery of Ishida flashing him a naughty smirk while reaching a hand back to part his own cheeks for a slightly more enticing view. It’s even more enticing with the addition of Ichigo’s release laying a kind of primal claim to such an in-demand asset.

The silly thought summons a sillier laugh as he flops to lie beside Ishida, reeling him in for a series of brief but sultry kisses.

“What’d I tell ya? This was an incredible idea.”

“Or a temporary episode of insanity,” he dryly tells Ichigo. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Whatever, Ishida. We both know you’ll call me again.”

“I still haven’t called you.” At Ichigo’s grumpy frown, he rolls his eyes and gets up to fish his phone from the pants he tossed to the floor. “If you’re going to pout, I’ll do it now so you at least have my number.” Tapping to do just that, he mumbles under his breath, “Though I know you’ll call me incessantly once you have it.”

He rises to take Ishida’s phone and drop it on the mattress as he says, “Actually, I’ve had your number for a while.” Ichigo pulls him in for a lingering kiss that he only breaks to add, “Rangiku-san gave it to me before we did that nerd versus jock flick.”

His look of total astonishment is funny and aggravating at the same time. “You’ve had it that long and you never used it to pester me? I don’t even know who you are anymore…”

“Shut up and be thankful I had enough self-control not to use it.” Although a big part of the reason he didn’t is because he knew Ishida might’ve blocked his number if he tried without permission.

Skeptically studying Ichigo like he can hear thoughts, he lets it go in the interest of announcing, “I’m borrowing your shower.”

“Feel free,” he endorses and points to the door leading into the bathroom. There’s another one connecting to the hall on the other side because, apparently, every proper bathroom needs two points of egress. It does come in handy sometimes, though.

Pausing in the doorway, Ishida tells him, “Don’t get any ideas.”

Ichigo snorts and shakes his head. It’s too early to attempt shower sex anyway.

While Ishida is fastidiously making his body less sticky, Ichigo lies face-up on his bed and stares at the ceiling. He’s so elated he doesn’t even know what to do with himself. Short of getting Ishida to finally go out with him, this is the best case scenario. Now he can see if Renji’s suggestion of going from casual to serious has potential. The hardest part will be taking things slowly enough not to scare Ishida away when he wants all of it _right now_ : daily texts, frequent dates, intimate discussions, and regular sleepovers. Ichigo didn’t even know how much he wanted all that until he let himself believe it could work.

There’s a chime to his right and he glances over to find Ishida’s phone aglow from an alert. Leaning up on an elbow, he reads Lisa’s name followed by a concise line of text that makes him smile.

“Lisa wants to know if you’re alive,” he calls toward the door Ishida chose to leave open. Probably since Ichigo can’t see the shower from this angle anyway.

“ _Tell her I’m dead in an alley somewhere because she wouldn’t give me a ride home last night_ ,” Ishida replies over the white noise of running water.

Ichigo snickers impishly as he relates the message and awaits her reply. What Lisa sends back makes him laugh so hard his eyes water.

“She said she knew you’d take the hint when your drunk ass realized the bar where she left you was a block away from my place.”

“ _That sassy, scheming bitch_ ,” Ishida grumbles with a hint of affection. Then, “ _Don’t tell her I said that_ ,” he raises his voice to order.

“Too late,” chirps Ichigo as he hits ‘send’.

“ _Kurosaki_!”

“Ooh, damn, she called you a snarky size-queen. Are you a size-queen, Ishida?”

“ _Not like you’d need to worry if I was_ ,” Ishida mutters so quietly he barely hears it, but the bathroom’s acoustics are working in his favor. “ _Ask her if she has my glasses_.”

Man, he must’ve been plastered to lose track of something meant to stay on his face at all times. Ichigo thinks it’s hilarious that Lisa ditched Ishida at a nearby bar so he would make a much-needed booty call. What isn’t hilarious is how much alcohol it took to persuade him.

“Yeah, they’re in your car, parked at your apartment. She took a cab home.”

“ _Small mercies_ ,” he sighs and shuts off the water.

Ichigo taps the ‘home’ button to minimize the chat app and freezes at what he discovers. It’s so shocking, unbelievable, and comical that he can’t even react at first. Then he says, “Oh. My. _God_ ,” and bursts out laughing.

“What is it?” Ishida wants to know, walking into the bedroom and securing a towel around his waist. Ichigo wordlessly hands him his phone and giggles manically to see him go unnervingly pale before bright color blooms across his cheeks.

His home screen’s wallpaper is a picture of Ichigo. Specifically, a soft-core porn photo of him at around age nineteen. He’s sitting with his legs tucked submissively under him, wearing a white t-shirt with the number ‘15’ on the front and nothing else. He’s also licking a half-melted popsicle dripping strawberry syrup down his arm and onto his bare thigh. There’s this hazy ‘come-hither’ heat in his eyes, aimed at the viewer. It was always one of his most popular shots back in the day but he can’t believe it’s still floating around the internet nearly ten years later.

Ishida opens his mouth to speak but no sound comes out.

“Out of all the photos you could pick—”

“I didn’t pick that! It was Lisa! She must’ve swiped my phone last night and changed the background as a prank!”

“There you go blaming your agent again,” Ichigo tuts, thoroughly enjoying his excessive embarrassment.

“It was just a generic seascape before, I’m telling you,” he insists, waving his phone around in emphasis. “Why would I let you near it otherwise?”

“Because you wanted me to see it and think, ‘aw, Ishida’s had the hots for me since we were teenagers, how cute!’” His blush darkens and spreads down to the top of his droplet-dotted chest. Ichigo gasps in revelation. “ _Have_ you had the hots for me since we were teenagers?”

“Of-of course not, idiot!” He’s lying. He’s totally lying and Ichigo is gaping. “Stop staring at me like that!”

Ishida feebly fights back as he is pinned to the mattress and furiously kissed. They have a brief tug-o-war over the towel that Ichigo wins. Three minutes later, Ishida is panting and hard from the heavy glide of Ichigo’s palm.

“I wish I’d known you then,” Ichigo murmurs against his ear before sucking on the lobe. “I bet you were so shy and sweet, blushing even more than you do now.”

“I have never been _sweet_ ,” he indignantly asserts, like it’s a derogatory term.

“The massage you gave me at the sushi joint was pretty sweet.”

“That was just…” Ishida has to pause for a second on account of Ichigo biting his throat and kneading one of his nipples at the same time. “ _Common courtesy_ ,” he hoarsely finishes. “Ugh, will you stop spouting nonsense and go get lube or something?”

Ichigo unclamps his mouth from the crux of Ishida’s neck to blink blankly at him. “Can I fuck you?”

“You’d better,” he sullenly returns. “And make it good, Kurosaki, or—”

“I’m gonna make it so good for you, Ishida,” he ardently vows, detaching himself from the man only long enough to snatch up the closest bottle of lubricant. “Tell me what you like?”

“As if I’ll make it that easy for you.”

Ichigo smiles. If Ishida wants to make a game of figuring out his favorite kinks, he’s more than ready to play.

After a bit of careful stretching, Ichigo brags, “I know you like it when I play with this.”

Ishida jumps from the bolt of pleasure a well-placed fingertip brings. “Who doesn’t?”

True. There probably isn’t a man alive who wouldn’t enjoy it. Ichigo ups the ante by rubbing the pad of a thumb back and forth over the slick head of Ishida’s erection. “What about this?”

“Again, who wouldn’t?” He’s trying to act cool but Ichigo can tell he’s rapidly falling under the sway of great sex.

When he gets around to easing inside, he grazes the same spot he was just teasing with his fingers and Ishida’s next inhale falters. His arms loop around Ichigo’s neck as he starts to move.

“You like to hold on to me,” he points out, kissing along the line of Ishida’s jaw. “I’m diggin’ the nail-play, by the way.”

The fingernails he is pressing into Ichigo’s skin timidly retract. So, it was unintentional after all, he thinks with a secret smirk.

“Must be the manifestation of my irritation toward you.”

“Must be.” Ishida drags blunt nails down his back in silent protest of his sarcasm, but it makes Ichigo groan instead of growl. “Just told you I liked it, didn’t I?”

“Well, if you’re tempted to try scratching me, don’t. You can bite me a little as long as it doesn’t leave marks, though.”

He knows something like that without being told. They both still do modeling on the side sometimes and it’s generally a smart idea not to show up for a shoot covered in love bites. Unless it suits the theme, of course.

Pushing Ishida’s knees back a bit more, he increases the pace just for variety. Ichigo isn’t surprised when the slight adjustment makes those intermittent nudges against his prostate, and the soft sounds Ishida huffs each time, increase in tandem.

“You know what I’ve always wondered? How the hell did you make it all the way through to the end of our first sex scene together?”

Bluish-black eyes that slipped shut of their own accord open partway to meet curious brown. “One, I was extraordinarily angry at you for trying to humiliate me.” _Obviously_ , Ichigo thinks, _it was a total dick move_. “Two, I was computing integrals as a distraction. Three—”

“Wait, what?” He laughs breathlessly and lets his hips slow for a moment. “You were doing math in your head while I was fucking you?”

“High level calculus, yes.”

“Shit, you’re such a nerd. I love it.” Most of his humor evaporates as soon as it’s out of his mouth because he was one word away from a dangerous confession.

Luckily, Ishida doesn’t seem to notice. He sighs in agitation and dictates, “You’re too slow, Kurosaki.”

“So, you don’t like it slow. Noted.” Resuming his former rhythm to both of their benefit, Ichigo prompts, “What was the third reason?”

“The way you had me folded in half like a flip-phone, my legs weren’t getting proper circulation. I focused on the sensation of pins-and-needles in my feet as a secondary distraction.”

“I didn’t realize you were uncomfortable,” he says apologetically. “You should’ve told me. Is anything falling asleep right now?”

Arching an impatient eyebrow, Ishida retorts, “Me, if you don’t concentrate on _this_ sex scene rather than reminiscing on that one.”

Okay. Time to get serious.

Ichigo pushes his tongue into that snarky mouth and concentrates on dominating his sharp tongue. He starts ramming his hips against Ishida’s hard and fast enough to make that vulgar slapping noise which lost its ability to faze them years ago. For the coup-de-grace, Ichigo reaches between their bodies to pump Ishida’s cock almost too firmly. The reaction to taking all of this at once is a shocked cry muffled between their lips and Ichigo echoes a milder version of it right back to feel him tightening up in every possible way.

Hot fluid coats sliding fingers as Ishida throws his head back on a stilted groan. Ichigo is stunned by the revelation that he just made Ishida climax mere seconds after hearing him complain about being bored.

“ _Damn_ ,” hisses Ichigo once he remembers what speech is all about. “Where’s calculus when you need it, right?”

“Out,” Ishida huffs and unwraps his limbs from around Ichigo so he can pull out. Since he wasn’t on the receiving end of that erotic compilation, he didn’t get to come. But that’s all right. He can take care of himself. Except Ishida sees him reaching and instructs, “Don’t.” Pushing Ichigo to lean against the headboard, Ishida sidles onto his lap and murmurs, “Let me.”

He kisses Ichigo almost tenderly as he pulls and twists and rubs in the perfect combination. Trust a porn star to make a simple hand job somehow feel _amazing_. He hugs Ishida to his chest, burying his face in the warm bend of shoulder and throat as he is expertly coaxed over the edge. The first thing Ichigo does when he regains enough sense for semi-rational thought is kiss Ishida. He really loves kissing Ishida.

Then he grins wickedly and teases, “You do like it a little rough, don’t ya?”

“Who doesn’t?” He taps the spot between Ichigo’s eyebrows. “You’re more attractive when this isn’t all bunched up.” He’s in such a good mood that he doesn’t even try to trade banter. He hugs Ishida again instead. “Kurosaki…”

“Hm?”

“Are you the type to get clingy after sex?”

“Hm.” Raising his head to see Ishida’s face without letting him go, Ichigo asks, “Deal-breaker?”

Ishida looks away as he mutters, “Not necessarily.”

“Bonus?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Ichigo doesn’t challenge it. He offers, “Breakfast?”

“More like brunch by now, but yes. It’s the least you can do for making me have to take two showers in one day.”

“What do you like?”

A sly smile spreads and Ishida repeats, “As if I’ll make it that easy for you.”

“Ah, come on, how am I supposed to guess what kinds of food you’ll eat?” Ignoring the question, he starts to get up so he can get back in the shower. Ichigo flings him against the mattress and proclaims, “Me first!” as he makes a bid for the bathroom.

He hears an outraged scoff, then Ishida barges in on his shower time.

They don’t go for a third round, but there is some kissing and touching before they’re through. Ichigo quizzes him about breakfast food preferences and Ishida gives him some hints. By the time they’re both dry and dressed, Ichigo has a recipe in mind. Ishida even agrees to help him make the meal so it suits his tastes, too. They eat while standing and chatting in the kitchen, getting along so well it’s almost scary.

It doesn’t get awkward until the dishes are done and there’s nothing left to talk about.

“Well, I should probably head home,” Ishida abruptly says and straightens from his slouch against the counter.

“Can I give you a ride?” Thinking maybe he’s not ready to give out his address, Ichigo adds, “Or call you a cab?”

“A ride would be great, if you don’t mind.”

“Yeah, no problem,” he assures, trying not to let his relief show. At least Ishida trusts him enough to be comfortable with Ichigo knowing where he lives.

The ride across town to Ishida’s apartment building is a little weird. More accurately, it’s weird because it’s _not_ weird, even though this sorta feels like the end of a date. A really fun, sexy date despite last night’s tension. Ichigo already knows he’s going to want to kiss Ishida goodbye, but should he? Or should Ichigo let him decide and just follow his lead? Unless Ishida likes it when he’s assertive, which is entirely possible based on previous encounters. Then again, he might be full-up on his internal ‘Ichigo meter’ and not want anything to do with him for a while.

He’s still debating when he parks outside of the designated address and Ishida says, “Thanks for the ride,” as he takes off his seatbelt.

“Anytime.”

Whatever clueless expression Ichigo is wearing makes Ishida smirk. He leans in to kiss Ichigo deeply, energetically, and just a tad affectionately. Their lips separate with a reluctant smack and they stare at each other for a few beats. Ishida’s smirk widens into an actual smile.

“Happy birthday, Kurosaki.”

“Thanks,” he says in an awed tone as Ishida climbs out of the car and heads inside.


	9. Ready to Go (Get Me Out of My Mind)

“I can’t believe this shit,” he hears Yoruichi gripe from the hall. “She had to wait ‘til the very last minute?”

“The young lady’s husband did say she had a truly _terrible_ case of—”

“I don’t care, Kisuke. Blacklist that bitch.”

Stepping out into the set area several crew members are still working to assemble for this afternoon’s shoot, Ichigo asks, “Which bitch are we blacklisting?”

“Oh, just your female co-star,” the irritable producer informs him. “So, unless we find a replacement in the next hour, our filming schedule’s fucked.”

“I can make some calls,” offers Ichigo, if only to skim some of the froth from her boiling aura. “See who’s available?”

“Urahara-san?” a timid voice calls. It’s Inoue, wringing her hands as she asks, “Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Of course, Inoue-san,” their director allows as he guides her away for a more private discussion. From this distance Ichigo can still hear him kindly ask, “What can I do for you?”

Her reply is too soft to be overheard but whatever it is has her blushing worse than Ishida usually does.

“What do you think that’s about?” he asks Yoruichi. She just smirks.

There is subdued astonishment in Urahara’s tone when he asks, “Are you sure?”

“Good for her,” Yoruichi praises, grinning now. To him, she says, “Go get Ishida.”

“Why?”

“Just do it,” she orders, giving him a push-start. “Make it snappy, dandelion-head.”

Ichigo grumbles about her attitude all the way there but goes to fetch Ishida from Rukia’s costume closet as instructed.

When they get back to the set room, Inoue is in the middle of addressing both director and producer, “…broke up with my boyfriend recently and I really think I just need…” She trails off to see the two of them approaching.

“So, what’s up?” Ichigo prompts and pushes hands into pockets.

“Inoue-san has volunteered to take the role of ingénue, if neither of you have any objections.”

“Wait,” he says and looks her over. “Seriously?”

“Don’t be rude, Kurosaki. You’d have to be blind not to notice Inoue-san’s attributes.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Ishida.” But it would be even ruder to point out how painfully shy she is and that generally doesn’t mix well with starring in a porno. “Of course she’s beautiful.”

“Then what’s your problem?”

Ichigo can’t help glaring in light of his snooty disposition. “She doesn’t know the lines.”

“Actually,” softly interjects Inoue, blush upgraded from petal pink to ruby red, “I do know them. I memorize every script to make sure I don’t overlook any design details. I also used to act…only in high school, though.”

“That settles it,” Yoruichi establishes.

She frowns to hear Ichigo say, “One sec.” Leading Ishida a short ways from them, he leans close to whisper, “You sure you’re fine with this?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“She’s a total newbie. What if she chokes?” Seeing him gearing up to argue, Ichigo rephrases, “What if she gets _overwhelmed_? This film isn’t exactly vanilla and even if she works in the adult industry, I get the impression Inoue’s not the most experienced woman on set, ya know?”

“If she’s made her decision, I’m inclined to respect it,” Ishida simply states. “Besides, we won’t lose anything but some time by trying. If it doesn’t work out, we can call in a replacement and start again tomorrow.”

“Ugh, why do you always have to be so damn _logical_?”

Arching an eyebrow, he deadpans, “You prefer irrational?”

“Every once in a while wouldn’t hurt.”

He eyes Ichigo critically as he asks, “Is this about Inoue-san’s crush on you?”

“What the hell? Did everyone know but me?”

“Apparently.”

Pulling his hands from jeans pockets to cross his arms instead, he claims, “No, it’s not about that. I’m really just concerned for her sake, Ishida. I don’t know if I’ll be able to take the scene seriously while worrying whether or not she can handle everything we’re gonna do to her.”

“Only one way to find out,” he quips with a precise poke to his glasses.

Again, Ichigo is frustrated by his unshakable rationality but he has a point. “All right. If you’re fine with it, so am I.”

“I’m fine with it.”

They return to the trio but halt on the periphery of an awkward discussion underway.

“You’ve been tested recently, right?” Yoruichi asks, unflinchingly direct.

“Last week,” Inoue dutifully relates. “All negative.”

“Are you on birth control?”

“Yes, for nearly two years now.”

“And you’re definitely not a virgin? ‘Cause you’ve seen what these boys are packing and this isn’t that kinda movie.”

“Definitely not!” the poor woman swears in spite of pronounced mortification. “I’ve had three different boyfriends, Yoruichi-san!”

Urahara spots Ishida and him, hovering uncertainly, and waves them over to ask, “What’s the verdict?”

“We’re fine with it,” Ichigo announces.

“Excellent! We’ll start rolling in forty-five. I trust you all know what to do?”

They offer confirmation in their own various ways before dispersing to prepare as usual.

For those starring in the film, preparations typically include hygiene and wardrobe, plus some optional alone-time in a dressing room for the men. Since Ichigo spent about an hour that morning watching one of Ishida’s DVDs and indulging in a little self-love, he’s already good to go for the scene. He’d be even better if Ishida was in his living room rather than just his TV but the adorable dork hasn’t called or visited since his birthday. Ichigo is trying not to read into it, assuming it’s only because Ishida has been busy or whatever, but he can’t deny he’d be happier with more face-time.

Speaking of face-time, Ichigo suggests, “Let’s talk to Inoue for a minute.”

“Why?”

“I wanna give her the ‘porn star welcome’.”

Ishida smiles. “That’s a great idea, Kurosaki. Glad to hear you’re finally seeing reason.”

He graciously decides to ignore the dig in favor of catching up with Inoue sooner. They find her on the way to Rukia for a quick fitting before the shoot.

“Hey, Inoue,” he says and promptly pulls her into a close hug.

“K-Kurosaki-kun?” she bemusedly mumbles against his shirt. Then Ishida hugs them both from the other side. “Ishida-kun?”

See, the thing about porn is it’s incredibly intimate. Even for actors who do it regularly this stuff can get awkward sometimes. The best way he knows to keep it copacetic is by keeping things _friendly_ —rough start with Ishida notwithstanding. That’s why it’s common to see adult actors hugging and kissing each other in greeting or right after an intense shoot. He overheard Ishida explaining it to Hanatarou once: something about physical contact and pair-bonding hormones and subconscious relaxation or some doctor crap like that. All Ichigo really knows is hugging people tends to make them a lot calmer.

“Welcome to the biz,” Ichigo tells her with a grin.

“Thank…you…?” she haltingly replies.

“We’re gonna take care of you, so don’t be nervous.”

“He’s exactly right, Inoue-san, no need for nerves here. And please don’t hesitate to let us know if anything makes you uncomfortable.”

“Yeah,” Ichigo agrees and adds, “fun first, work second.”

“O-okay.” They ease out of the group embrace to let her recover from the surprise. She smiles after a moment and repeats, “Thank you, Ishida-kun, Kurosaki-kun. I look forward to working with you!”

_A young couple sit at the foot of a neatly made bed, gently holding hands and quietly talking. They are discussing the possibility of deepening their relationship but the woman is conflicted. She has another suitor she finds equally enticing and choosing between them is no simple matter. Unwilling to continue until the decision is made, she struggles to convey why she shows hesitation when she would love nothing more than to express the depth of her affection for the dark-haired man beside her._

_Suddenly, the bedroom door swings open to reveal none other than her second suitor boldly striding in to confront them. The couple quickly stand as the intruder speaks._

“ _I can’t believe you would pick him over me!”_

“ _Of course she would pick me,” the man next to her proudly asserts. “I can provide anything she needs. I have honor, wealth, prestige, and no natural aversion to hard work—unlike you. Perhaps if you devoted yourself to less frivolous pursuits, the lady might have taken you seriously.”_

_Aggressively approaching his rival, the fiery-tempered man argues, “It’s no wonder my art seems frivolous to someone without a drop of passion in his blood! We both know you could never satisfy her the way I can.”_

“ _I assure you, I am more than capable of attending to her desires,” he snidely proclaims. “At least I understand the difference between passionate love and wild lust. Anyone as self-centered as you can’t hope to master the art of_ giving _pleasure versus taking it.”_

_Roughly gripping the dark-haired man’s shirt front, he sneers, “You son of a—”_

“ _Please don’t fight over me!” cries the anxious woman as she moves to wedge herself between them. “I love you both and the last thing I want is to cause strife for either of you, so please don’t fight!”_

_A contemplative hush follows her first declaration of love to either of them. The closeness of both men is highlighted with each swift breath that lightly nudges her ample chest against the one before, while she is prevented from retreating by the hips behind framing her generous backside. She gasps to feel hands possessively holding her waist as the man she can’t see lays claim over her virtue._

“ _I won’t let you steal her away on a whim. She deserves a steadfast partner who’s willing to do what is necessary for her happiness.”_

_A shiver tingles down her spine when the other man caresses the delicate curve of her neck with a warm palm. Glaring at his rival above her head, he replies, “Oh, I’m willing, all right. I’ll do whatever it takes to win her from you.”_

“ _The only way I would ever consider you a worthy adversary is if you somehow managed to impress her more than I could.”_

“ _Shall we have a contest?” the intruder glibly challenges. “Unless you’re afraid to look like a fool when I show you how it’s done.”_

“ _What?” blurts the woman, blindsided by this turn of events. “But that’s—”_

“ _The only fool in this room is_ you _and I’m ready to prove it anytime.”_

Ichigo feels less like his character and more like himself as he looks into widened grey eyes and asks, “Can I kiss you?”

Inoue waits through a short scripted pause before nodding consent. He supports the back of her head as he kisses her firmly right from the start. Small hands rise to brace against his chest as she rides out the whirlwind that is one of his fiercest kisses. In hindsight, maybe Ichigo should’ve kissed her before the shoot—just so she would know what to expect—but it’s too late now. He’s not holding back, either. It’d kind of defeat the purpose since this is supposed to be a competition.

He finally lets up once Inoue is panting for breath.

“Sloppy and crude,” Ishida disapproves as he guides her to face him instead. “That isn’t how you kiss a woman at all. It takes much more finesse than you’re capable of sustaining.” His expression turns tender when he politely asks Inoue, “May I?”

Again, she pauses before nodding and it’s Ishida’s turn to blow her mind. If someone were to ask which of them is the better kisser, Ichigo wouldn’t have an easy answer. It’s a tossup. What he can say, though, is Ishida has a very dexterous tongue and the skill to use it. Ichigo catches flashes of it between shifting lips and almost licks his own in heady envy. It’s already been too long since he got a taste of Ishida’s lingual finesse for himself. Luckily, he won’t have to wait much longer.

By the time he deems the kiss adequate, Inoue is making these little noises in her throat like she’s so deep into it she’s not even sure where she is anymore. Her eyes open when Ishida withdraws but they’re unfocused and a bit glossy. Ichigo wants to laugh but he has to rein it in.

It almost slips out anyway when Inoue sighs, “Oh…” like she just had an epiphany. Maybe she did. Ishida’s kiss is an enlightenment in and of itself.

“There,” he tells Ichigo with a smug smirk. “That is how you kiss a woman.”

“Yeah, you really showed me. Now show me how you kiss a man.”

Ishida starts to say something but Ichigo’s mouth is there before a single word escapes. Rather than shove him away—because that would be boring and predictable—Ishida pulls him closer and trash-talks between kisses.

“If you think,” lingering smooch, “for one second,” nipped lip and languid lick, “that you can scare me off,” deep sweep of tongue into Ichigo’s mouth, “by threatening my masculinity…” They share their hottest, most vicious kiss of all and he breaks free to finish, “Then you’re an even bigger fool than I thought.”

They appear to ‘realize’ Inoue is tightly sandwiched between them at the same time. Glancing down in tandem, they notice how she’s pink-cheeked and gawking up at them.

“Did you like watching us kiss?” Ichigo asks her. Pause. Demure nod triggers wicked grin. Eyes flicking up to Ishida’s, he mocks, “Still willing to ‘do what is necessary for her happiness’?”

“If you are implying we should both—”

“You gotta give the lady what she wants, right? Or are you too ‘honorable’ and ‘prestigious’ to share with a ‘frivolous’ artist?”

“Stop quoting me, you shameless heathen!”

Ichigo snickers at his outburst, then asks Inoue, “What do you think? Try us both out and pick your favorite after?”

“I…” She bites her lip and averts her gaze as she considers it.

Since her response is not an immediate refusal, Ishida asks, “Would you really enjoy something like that?”

Depending on how it’s said, his sentence could be perceived as painfully judgmental or subtly coaxing. For their purposes, he goes with the latter. The fact that he isn’t infuriated by the prospect lends courage where the opposite would’ve allotted guilt.

So, by the grace of a decent script and better acting, Inoue wistfully whispers, “Yes.”

“Well?” Ichigo goads his character’s rival. “Last chance to forfeit.”

“I’ll make you wish _you_ took the chance instead.”

The first thing Ishida does is take out the clip keeping auburn hair wrapped in a conservative bun so he can run his fingers through endless strands as he kisses Inoue. Not to be outshined right from the beginning, Ichigo slowly drags her light jacket over shoulders and down arms as he sucks on the side of her throat. One of Ishida’s hands is stationed at the small of her back but he slides it lower so he doesn’t hinder Ichigo’s efforts to disrobe her. Once his hand is in a prime location, however, Ishida assertively squeezes firm flesh and Inoue moans helplessly into his mouth.

_Damn, if she’s already moaning like that…_ Not that Ichigo can blame her, but he still has reservations about featuring an inexperienced actress in this type of film. Yet, Inoue is a grown woman and she can make her own decisions. Plus, her innate bashfulness fits the character perfectly. As long as she doesn’t pass out like Riruka and countless other fangirls/boys over the years, they’ll be all right.

Ishida is still kissing her incoherent, but now he’s also working on unbuttoning the front of her shirt one-handed. Ichigo can’t help recalling how vehemently drunk-Ishida announced his loathing of those wretched little discs before scattering a slew of them all over Ichigo’s floor. Ishida’s probably cussing them out in his head right now. A sudden sharp exhale of amusement follows and he can only hope it isn’t too conspicuous since he’s meant to be seductively unzipping Inoue’s knee-length pencil skirt while nibbling along her shoulder.

As soon as the waistline is loosened, Ishida smoothes his nearby hand underneath satiny material but over lacy panties. Heat and friction without full skin contact is a delicious tease that has Inoue arching into the touch, inadvertently pushing her ass right up against Ichigo’s hips. He groans softly at welcome pressure and gives a shallow thrust forward to express his gratitude. That in turn has Inoue tipping closer to Ishida and makes her half-naked breasts press into his well-defined chest.

Ichigo lets her skirt drop to the floor as Ishida slips off her shirt, leaving Inoue standing between them in nothing but bra and underwear accessorized with opaque pantyhose. Before she can feel self-conscious about it, Ichigo reaches around her to tug off Ishida’s shirt and gets the same treatment in kind.

With their kiss broken at last, Ichigo swivels her around for his turn at making Inoue too dizzy to stand without their support. He pulls her flush against him and the shock of hot skin meeting hot skin earns another tremulous moan. Ichigo wonders how wet she’s already gotten for them but he can’t check; they’re not supposed to get anywhere near her undies just yet. Ishida has the green light to breach her bra, though, and he goes straight to feeling her up through the fancy fabric from behind.

For lack of anything better to do with them, Inoue drapes her arms over Ichigo’s shoulders while they kiss. Her nails don’t dig into his flesh, her fingertips don’t glide across his scalp, and her palms don’t cup the back of his neck the way Ishida’s tend to do but that’s okay. She’s also a lot shorter and Ichigo forgot how convenient it is to make out with someone pretty close to his height until his spine starts faintly complaining about the difference in angles.

When Ishida dips beneath cloth to massage one of Inoue’s breasts directly, she breaks the kiss to gasp and tilt her head back against his shoulder. The spaces between his fingers are kneading and pulling her nipple just enough to make it stiffen up nicely, then his palm rubs damp friction over it in contrast. The clever combo is driving Inoue crazy. She loops an arm around Ishida’s neck and rocks back against him in mindless encouragement.

Ichigo’s character takes this wanton display of approval as a personal challenge. He leans down, tucks the cup of Inoue’s bra out of the way, and seals his mouth around her other nipple.

“Oh!” she shouts, wriggling her hips against Ishida’s like she’s dying for it. The unexpected spike in pleasure makes him groan around the kisses he’s trailing up her throat.

He sees Ishida’s free hand snaking around her side and down the front of her belly, only to pause between flat navel and low waistline. His fingertips tickle along that line while he sucks on her earlobe and keeps fondling her breast. Ichigo ups the ante by flicking his tongue over her erect nipple and drawing light circles on the inside of her thighs. Inoue’s legs start to shake as the pitch of her sweet moaning ascends. Ichigo wonders if they could make her come just like this. He’d bet money they could.

Slowly rolling the nylon hose down one leg at a time, he releases Inoue’s breast and sinks to his knees. He banishes Ishida’s hand from her stomach and tongues her tiny belly button as he slips the hose from her feet. Ichigo can feel every rapid breath reflected in the shallow push and pull of her navel against his mouth. It’s sorta hot. He wonders if Ishida would let him do this for more than two seconds before pushing him lower or pulling him higher to kiss somewhere else instead.

As though sensing Ichigo’s attention on him, he glances down the length of Inoue’s body to meet his eyes. The look they share then is smoldering. There’s something so mystifyingly erotic about Ishida’s eyes when he’s really turned on. It’s like there’s a beast right below the surface, hungrily peering out and silently threatening to eat Ichigo alive. His skin prickles pleasantly as he thinks he’d gladly volunteer to be Ishida’s dinner anytime.

Ichigo meanders south, scooting the edge of fine lace down centimeter by centimeter. Even though Inoue knows he will stop just shy of kissing _there_ , she still sighs almost mournfully when he stands back up. He and Ishida work together to remove her bra in a hurry because they can tell she’s at her limit. Also because they’re supposed to, as a symbol of how they’re putting her wellbeing above their rivalry and whatnot. It’s all very altruistic and inspiring but at the moment Ichigo just wants to focus on playing with her boobs. The one major drawback to screwing another dude is nobody has boobs.

Inoue is panting so hard, head lolling on the broad plane of Ishida’s shoulder, that he can’t even think about kissing her like the script says. But Ichigo probably ought to kiss _somebody_ , so he defaults to Ishida whether he’s into it or not. Turns out he very much is, and so is Inoue if her stark shift in breathing pattern is any indication. It changes again the instant Ishida’s fingers _finally_ slide inside and start working tight, fast circles right at the spot where she needs it most.

“ _Aaaahn_ ~” she squeals, body quaking and twitching from the brutal onrush of euphoria.

It’s pretty fucking sexy. What’s even sexier is how Ishida has to break the kiss with Ichigo to suck in a bracing breath as Inoue’s squirming ass grinds into his erection. The way his mouth falls open, eyes squeeze shut, and brow bunches up tells Ichigo he’s so damn close he’s probably solving complex matrices or some geeky math shit like that. And Ichigo’s such a jerk that he disrupts his concentration by biting his lower lip and tugging a little. Ishida gives the softest growl of agitation before jabbing his tongue into Ichigo’s mouth for a passive-aggression-flavored kiss.

When Inoue starts to come down, she goes completely limp in their arms. For a second, Ichigo is certain she fainted—again, can’t blame her, he’s been on the receiving end of those gifted fingers—but he notices her eyes are open. Barely.

“You okay, Inoue?” he checks, dropping character out of genuine concern.

Evidently of the same opinion, Ishida asks, “Should we call for Yamada-kun?”

“I’m here,” Hanatarou squeaks from somewhere in the shadows blanketing everything beyond the camera.

“No, I’m…” Inoue visibly collects herself and clears her throat to assure them, “I’m okay.”

Yoruichi steps forward to offer, “Orihime, if you need a minute we can have the boys mess around with each other until you’re good to go.”

She pauses at that. Whether it’s because she needs a minute or just wants to see Ishida and him mess around is a mystery. Ichigo gets the impression it’s the latter when her eyes flick shyly to theirs before giving her answer.

“I can continue.”

“What a trooper,” their producer praises with a dirty chuckle and returns to her chair beside Urahara.

“Still rolling!” their director cheerfully announces. That’s the cue to get back into character.

They guide Inoue to sit on the edge of the bed and he promptly shoves Ishida to the mattress beside her. Ichigo wrangles his pants off—no boxer-briefs today—and strokes him roughly as he tells Inoue with a smirk, “I’ll get him nice and ready for you.”

Although anyone in range can clearly see Ishida is the very definition of ‘ready for her’, Ichigo goes down on him for a couple of minutes to make extra sure. Ishida’s breathing harshens as he watches, braced on elbows and trying to make a discontented face in spite of the pleasure. Then Inoue’s character leans over to kiss her lover as a form of appeasement for putting up with the unconventional scenario on her behalf. Also because she wants to, Ichigo is sure. Who wouldn’t?

When Ishida makes a muted sound that he has come to identify as him verging on losing the struggle with his own eager dick, Ichigo gets to repay the favor from their last shoot by staving it off with a well-placed grip. The camera likely won’t pick it up but even if it does, denying Ishida’s impending orgasm is just another expression of the antagonism between their characters.

He’s gasping by the time Ichigo lets up and Inoue pulls back. Her eyes drink in the sight of him all laid out and intensely aroused. If she’s having anywhere near the same reaction to it as Ichigo, the way her hands clench into the bed spread is the opposite of trepidation for what’s next.

Inoue wiggles helpfully when Ichigo finally removes her last article of clothing. _She’s wet, all right_ , he notes with a naughty smirk. It’s about to come in handy for her because, depending on the size of her last boyfriend, Ishida may be a bit more than she can easily accommodate at first. That’s why Ichigo assists her with getting into position above Ishida so she can take him at her own pace. Both pairs of hands support and caress her body as she slowly sinks down.

“ _Oooh_ ,” she moans in a tone that broadcasts how much she’s really not suffering right now.

Ishida softly mimics the sentiment as his fingers press into the supple flesh of her hips. Even Ichigo can tell she’s tight as hell just by reading his reaction to entering her. _Better keep calculating_ , he inwardly teases the man, _you’ve got a long way to go_.

Breathing pattern switching to something more measured and deliberate, Ishida visibly locks it down right before Inoue starts to move. The degree of self-control he’s able to exercise during sex is unreasonably hot. Thinking back to the times Ichigo has managed to override Ishida’s remarkable determination—and vice versa—makes his cock throb with need. Suddenly, all Ichigo can think about is how much he can’t wait to do it again.

Instead of fulfilling the fantasy, he has to watch Inoue bouncing enthusiastically against Ishida’s hips and listen to them groan about it. All Ichigo can do is run his hands and lips over them both while he waits for his turn. Ah, but when he gets his turn…

A few minutes after Ishida starts thrusting up to meet her—counting each beat to match her pace precisely, knowing him—Inoue shudders and whimpers through her second climax. It’s not as dramatic as the first one but Ichigo sees the signs that say it’s at least twice as powerful. Her rocking slows but doesn’t stop. Although her whole body is shaking, she rides Ishida through the aftershocks and pushes past the hypersensitive phase to cycle back around like a pro. Credit where credit is due!

“Fuck,” he whispers from the strength of Inoue’s internal muscles squeezing around him. Ichigo hears the desperation in his voice and he’d feel bad for the guy if he wasn’t kind of envious at the moment. Besides, if Ishida could handle Rangiku at twenty-three, he can damn sure handle Inoue at twenty-eight.

There’s also the fact that Ichigo’s character gets fed up right about now.

“You’re taking too long,” he growls and carefully maneuvers Inoue off his rival to lie on her back, then hauls Ishida upright to hold against his chest. “Can’t you see she’s waiting to watch you come?”

Inoue wordlessly corroborates this claim by sitting up and eyeing him attentively. His hands grip Ichigo’s restricting arms in a prelude to resistance but halts when a fist encircles his erection and starts pumping fast. Ishida bites his lip and writhes against the encroaching ecstasy being rapidly wrung out of him. He’s fighting it. He’s _supposed_ to be fighting it and Ichigo has to ignore the impulse to use any one of a dozen different tricks that would shatter his resolve in an instant.

“Who said you could touch m—”

His palm seals securely over Ishida’s mouth to shut him up, as scripted. But Ichigo’s interest is piqued as he notices the hitch in breath and the twitch of his cock that tells him Ishida positively loves it. He is reminded of their first choreography session together and how Ichigo got a similar reaction to fake-choking him on the mat. Like a resounding crack of thunder, he is struck by the revelation that one of Ishida’s favorite kinks is _breath-play_.

_Shit, that’s gonna be so much fun_ , Ichigo inwardly cheers. If he was excited before, now he’s dangerously motivated for the prospect of their next romp.

Testing the theory, he subtly adjusts his grip to constrain Ishida’s breathing entirely. At the same time, Ichigo recalls what he was told about biting and sinks his teeth into the pliant curve where shoulder meets throat. These two attacks in quick succession devastate Ishida’s defenses. The muffled sound he makes against Ichigo’s hand is such a salacious mix of astonished and plaintive that it takes an alarming amount of willpower not to join in on Ishida’s long-awaited release.

Ichigo removes his hand to let the man gasp and pant as he continues to be stroked through a lasting current of pleasure. Mesmerized by the show, Inoue hasn’t looked away once. Her eyes are half-lidded and her mouth is parted in awe of the desire watching Ishida’s orgasm up close and personal has stoked in her. Seems like she’s ready for another round.

Dropping his severely weakened rival to rest on his side atop the mattress, Ichigo crawls forward and spreads her legs without pausing to ask permission. He tugs her hips into the position he wants and steadily pushes inside. Inoue clutches at the covers above her head just like Ishida did in his apartment, only their expressions don’t match. Inoue broadcasts unconditional submission, whereas Ishida always sustains some level of aggression. Maybe that’s why Ichigo can’t help pissing him off a little whenever they’re fucking; he is deeply attracted to Ishida’s latent dominance and subconsciously coaxes it out as often as possible.

But he can’t let himself be distracted by idle notions when he needs to be concentrating on making Inoue buck wildly against him as he rams into her without remorse. As the ‘fiery-tempered artist’ in this scenario, Ichigo’s character is the contrast to Ishida’s ‘honorable gentleman’, so there will be no smooth buildup and passive participation. It feels _amazing_ going full-tilt after having to be patient the whole time. Going by her vocal feedback, Inoue doesn’t mind at all. No sooner does she take a breath than it rushes out as a short, hoarse moan.

Ishida is watching them from his boneless sprawl on the bed like he can’t be bothered to budge an inch from where Ichigo left him. There’s this sated haze in Ishida’s dark eyes that he’s trying not to notice because it’s seriously undermining his focus. Instead, he stares down at Inoue—flushed face, jiggling chest, tapered waist, creamy thighs—and thinks about how wrong he was. She’s doing great and Ichigo is no film expert but even he can tell Urahara’s bound to be thrilled with her performance. There’s a fair chance Ishida’s going to gloat about it later but that just means Ichigo might have an excuse to turn a bout of bickering into fooling around in one of their dressing rooms.

When Inoue’s body begins to hint that her limit is approaching, Ichigo dials it down and leans in to lure her away from the brink with a kiss. He knows she’s pretty far gone by the way she calls his name in a broken murmur between their mouths. Not Ichigo’s character’s name but _his_. It’s so quiet and garbled that he doubts anyone else picks up on it—including Inoue—but it makes him a tad uncomfortable since it means she’s not acting right now. She’s just appreciating the fact that Ichigo is making her feel so good she’s utterly lost in it. He can’t say anything, though; Ishida did the same thing for him during their previous shoot.

After the momentary reprieve, he amps it back up without warning. Inoue throws her head back and arches hard on a silent scream as he ruthlessly pounds into her. Her third climax hits her with an intensity so immense some of it is transferred to Ichigo where they are connected. Inoue clamps around him like a vice and he has to grit his teeth against it just to stay lucid. God, how many kegels does this chick do? No wonder Ishida almost got swept away earlier!

Ichigo opens eyes he didn’t mean to close and keeps rolling his hips until her face relaxes in perfect satiation. Then he pulls out, sits back on his heels, and breathlessly taunts Ishida’s character, “How’s that for ‘ _giving_ pleasure versus taking it’?”

Even if Ichigo is expecting it, being abruptly pushed down and straddled is dizzying when the majority of his blood is still gathered in his groin. Ishida glares down at him as he starts stroking with no amount of delicacy and says, “I thought I told you to quit quoting me.”

_Fuck yes_ , that hunger in his eyes is exactly what Ichigo needs. He wants to keep his gaze locked on Ishida’s but as soon as the first wave crashes, he’s gone.

It drags him down into the abyss like an undertow and all Ichigo can think as he sinks is the joke’s on him because he might actually be addicted to Ishida now. Ishida is his fetish: the thing he can’t come without. Ishida is his guilty pleasure: he’s not supposed to want it this bad. Ishida is his crush: the one who’s always on his mind. Ishida is his own personal hell: the reality he can’t escape no matter how much it’s killing him.

Ichigo can’t fully shake these thoughts loose once they take hold. They’re itching in his brain while the three of them finish out the scene with some dialogue that implies this spontaneous threesome will lead to a group relationship. It’s quaint and cute and completely unrealistic. In the real world, people can’t share each other equally. There will always be jealousy and resentment when emotions aren’t equal.

He is beginning to understand how he’s becoming the poster-boy for that concept.

Fucking Inoue was fun, sure. No complaints there. But if Ishida wasn’t involved he doesn’t know if it would’ve been. Worse, if Ichigo wasn’t involved…But he really doesn’t want to contemplate that.

Ignoring Ishida and him still tangled together on the bed, Rukia and Yoruichi swoop in to swath Inoue in a fresh robe before scooping her up to recuperate from her first shoot in privacy.

“Magnificent work, everyone!” Urahara compliments cast and crew alike. “That’s a wrap for the day, so have a wonderful evening because you all earned it.”

Ishida climbs off, helping him up so they can slip into their robes and sip from water bottles as usual.

“That went very well,” Ishida tells their director. “Do you foresee future opportunities to cast Inoue-san in your films?”

Ichigo hides a shallow frown with a long swig as Urahara replies, “While I would be open to the idea, I don’t anticipate that she will be offering her services so readily again.”

“You don’t think she hated it or anything like that, do you?”

“On the contrary, Kurosaki-san! I believe the two of you have simply filled her quota of amorous encounters for quite some time.”

“Not everyone is as insatiable as you, Kurosaki.”

He starts to smile but it falls away to see Ishida walking off in the direction of his dressing room. Rather than chasing him like a puppy after its master, he soberly asks Urahara, “You don’t have any new projects in the works for us, do you?”

“Currently, no. However, the wild success of your other two movies in addition to the hype over this one suggests I should. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” he fibs, scratching the back of his head. “I was thinking it might be better if we stick to separate projects for a little while. I’ll be on tour with my band over the next couple of months so my schedule’s gonna be kinda…”

“I see.” Urahara appears mildly surprised but he doesn’t question it. “Please let me know if you change your mind.”

Ichigo nods and wanders back to his own dressing room. This is maybe the only time he hasn’t been in a great mood after a shoot and he already knows the reason why: Rangiku was right, he’s totally smitten.


	10. Victorious

There’s still a dull roar echoing through the air by the time they file out of the concert hall and onto their tour bus. Chad automatically takes the driver’s seat since he’s the only one in the band everyone can agree to trust with the wheel—aside from Tatsuki, who’s busy with manager stuff. Ichigo has never cared enough to ask for details. All he knows is she’s damn good at it or they wouldn’t have just rocked a sold-out show hours away from their usual scene in Tokyo.

He doesn’t really get it. They’ve been playing for years, always with a solid fan base but never quite catching mainstream. This summer is different for reasons he has yet to pin down. Lately, they’re getting so much acclaim Tatsuki is adding shows to the roster where she can because the demand for tickets is that high. It’s insane and overwhelming and kind of awesome. But Ichigo just doesn’t get it.

Grimmjaw says it’s due to fickle fans—or what Ichigo calls ‘filler fans’—who come and go on a whim, as opposed to their loyal fans who are always around. Riruka thinks it’s because of the blog she writes for the band gaining popularity with a younger crowd recently. Chad’s just as clueless as him but Tatsuki…

Tatsuki has a different theory.

“I told you, Ichigo, it’s your newer songs,” she says when he comments on Camisado landing yet another full house tonight. “Your writing has improved since—”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” he gripes before she can say it again.

“Since you met Ishida,” she finishes, enunciating each word. “He’s been good for your creative process.”

“I miss Uryuu-kun,” wistfully sighs Riruka as Ichigo paws at his face in overflowing agitation. “When are you planning to invite him for another guest spot on our tracks? I think we should do an album collab with him!”

“Oi,” Grimm pipes up from where he’s been busy texting at the back of the bus. “Even if I let other singers step in sometimes, I’m still the _lead_ singer. Don’t forget it! Although I wouldn’t hate hangin’ with that hottie as long as Deathberry doesn’t cock block me again…”

“Can you guys just shut the hell up about Ishida!?” They blink at his volume in collective bemusement. Even Chad peeks at him through the rear view mirror. Ichigo crams half a protein bar into his mouth—yes, he’s a little hangry—and grumbles around it, “Bastard hasn’t talked to me in weeks anyway.”

Fixing him with a dubious stare, Tatsuki asks, “What did you do this time?”

“Nothing!” he squawks indignantly, spraying crumbs across the table stationed between his and Tatsuki’s seats. “Why’s it always gotta be my fault when someone stops talking to me?”

“I’ve asked myself that same question many times,” she mercilessly deadpans.

From the front of the bus, Chad joins in to ask, “When did you last speak?”

“After the shoot, for about five seconds before he left without bothering to even say ‘bye.”

“Have you tried calling him?” Riruka wonders.

“No, but—”

“Messaging?” tries Tatsuki.

“ _No_ , but—”

“Have you made any effort to contact him at all?” Grimm sardonically challenges. “Or are you too chicken-shit to make the first move?”

“Look, I don’t remember asking you assclowns to trouble-shoot my nonexistent relationship with Ishida, so butt the fuck out!”

Sensing that he’s genuinely tipping toward irate, Riruka scoffs and Grimm goes back to his texts while Chad focuses on driving. It’s Tatsuki who’s too stubborn to let it go that easily.

“Is it true what Abarai told Kuchiki about you doing a casual thing with Ishida?”

_Fuck my life_ , Ichigo laments as he swallows his bite and takes a bracing breath. That’s what he gets for being friends with a bunch of god damn gossips.

“We exchanged numbers and he came over to my apartment once,” Ichigo admits, intentionally omitting the date and details of that meeting, “but that’s as far as it’s gone.”

“Oh, _that’s_ why you looked so pathetic when you caught us kissing,” Grimm ponders aloud, mouth curling into a mocking smirk. “You’ve been sweet on him the whole time!”

Pretending he didn’t hear for the sake of his own mental health, Ichigo continues, “And if you’re thinking about picking Lisa’s brain again, _don’t_. She’s an open book but it goes both ways and I really don’t need Ishida finding out about this ‘my friend said, your friend said’ middle school bullshit you two have been doing.”

Tatsuki rolls her eyes and says, “He already knows, dummy.”

“Great.” Ichigo folds his arms on the table and leans forward to hide his face in them. “That’s just _great_.”

He raises his head reluctantly when he feels Tatsuki’s hand settle on his elbow. “He knows because he’s had Lisa ask me stuff about you, too.”

Slowly sitting up straight, Ichigo cautiously tries, “Really? Like what?”

She smiles at his hopeful countenance. “You’re missing the point, which is _he’s into you, too_. So, maybe try sending him an eggplant emoji or something before writing him off as disinterested.”

Riruka giggles at the phrase ‘eggplant emoji’ partly because she’s the Emoji Queen of the group and partly because it makes Ichigo blush.

“Geez, Tatsuki, why don’t I just send him a dick pic while I’m at it?”

“Sure,” she agrees with a loose shrug. “Gets the message across.”

Shaking his head, Ichigo muses, “Why do I even listen to you people? You’re all nuts.”

“If we’re nuts, you’re the nuttiest ‘cause there’s nothin’ nuttier than not gettin’ your nut off with a piece of ass that smokin’.”

This enlightening nugget of wisdom, courtesy of Grimmjaw, makes everyone burst into laughter except Ichigo. Even Chad’s grinning, that silent traitor.

“Fine!” he snaps and whips out his phone. “You guys want me to text him that bad, I will, and you’re all buying me room service at the hotel when he doesn’t respond!”

He grinds his teeth when they continue to snigger at his expense. Tuning them out long enough to type out a short sentence is tough as nails but he manages the feat somehow.

_Hey, what’s up_ , he sends and shoves the screen at Tatsuki so she can see he actually did it.

“Wow,” she drawls, “how poetic. Should I start calling you Shakespeare?”

“More like Shakesberry,” Grimmjaw teases as he moves closer to plop beside Tatsuki.

“Shut it. I told you he’s not even gonna—” Ichigo cuts himself off at the unmistakable sound of a text alert. “Holy shit.”

“What’d he say?” wheedles Riruka, leaning over his shoulder in rampant curiosity.

_Nothing much. You?_

“Uh…” Ichigo is at a loss. He really didn’t think this through. “What should I say?”

“Eggplant emoji,” Riruka reminds with a poke to his cheek.

Swatting her hand away, he scolds, “I’m not sending that!”

“Tell him the truth,” Tatsuki suggests.

Since it’s not a terrible idea, Ichigo replies, _Just finished a concert in Nagano. Crazy show tonight_

“Oh, my god, you’re so lame,” Riruka mutters under her breath.

Ichigo’s eye twitches because he figures Ishida will probably think the same thing but it’s too late to change it now.

_Sore shoulders? ;)_

Suddenly, his heart is racing and his palms are sweating.

“He’s flirting with me,” Ichigo breathes in undiluted awe. “I can’t believe he’s actually _flirting_ with me right now. Is this the Twilight Zone, or what?”

But he just told Ishida he’s in Nagano, which is more than three hours from Tokyo so it’s not as if he can come and give Ichigo another one of those stellar massages anytime soon.

“Tell him you want to meet up when you get back into town,” advises Tatsuki.

“Yeah,” Grimm agrees, “tell him you can’t wait to get naked together.”

Riruka offers her two cents with, “Tell him you want to have phone sex tonight.”

“Ooh, great idea,” says Grimm. “Let’s conference call that shit.”

“What is _wrong_ with you two?” Ichigo exasperatedly demands. “Even I’m not that obsessed with sex and I do porn!”

In the end, he rejects all of their input and simply sends, _I’ve been thinking about you_

“Classy,” commends Tatsuki.

Then, “Lame,” repeats Riruka.

And, “Pussy,” Grimm sneers.

But Ishida replies, _Which parts of me?_

Ichigo bites his lip as a stirring of his ever-present lust for the man surfaces. Yet, the self-discoveries he made thanks to the shoot with him and Inoue have made it impossible for Ichigo to pretend his attraction to Ishida is only physical.

He swallows hard because he knows it’s a risk, but he swiftly types and sends, _Just you_

It’s the raw truth and, judging by the fact that they don’t cajole him again, his bandmates seem to pick right up on it.

Ishida’s response takes a bit longer this time. Ichigo knows because he’s holding his breath.

_If you haven’t booked a hotel yet, I recommend the Royal_

Snickering evilly, Grimm says, “Aaah, nothin’ like a good subject change to let your sorry ass down gentle. Looks like I’ve still got a shot with him after all!”

Ichigo’s posture sags. Yeah, he suspected floating his unrequited feelings at Ishida was probably not the smartest plan. He might as well have tacked on some pink hearts and kissy faces.

While Tatsuki gets up to chat with Chad for a minute, Ichigo sullenly sends, _Thanks_ , and tucks his phone back into his jeans pocket.

“At least he was trying to be helpful,” Riruka points out when she sees how bummed he is. “Could’ve been worse. Like bringing up the weather or something.”

“Yeah.” Doesn’t change the fact that his hopes have been dashed, though. “What’s everybody thinking for dinner?”

No one answers for a moment. Eventually, Riruka declares, “I want stir-fry.”

She’s trying to act cool but Ichigo knows that she knows stir-fry is his favorite. He also knows she secretly has a huge heart and a major soft spot for her bandmates. Particularly when they’ve just gotten the brush off from a serious crush.

Since no one objects, they detour to a stir-fry place they’ve been to a few times in the past. Ichigo enjoys his food and tries not to brood about how it might be time to give up on pursuing a relationship with Ishida. All signs indicate indifference on his side, even after what Ichigo thought was a breakthrough in his apartment. The reality is he’s tired of holding out hope for something that just doesn’t seem likely to happen for them. He’d really be doing himself a favor by letting Ishida go.

Ichigo is still moping by the time they get to the hotel. He’s so ready to crash for the night that he wordlessly accepts the key card Tatsuki hands him and takes the elevator—the _elevator_ —two floors up to his room. It takes three swipes to get the dumb button to go green and let him in.

The instant he walks through the door, he halts. The lights are on. Ichigo has been in dozens of hotels and reserved countless rooms over the past decade but none of them ever leave the lights on for guests. Why waste the electricity? It’s enough of a mystery to snap him out of his funk for a wary glance around. Did he get a key to someone else’s room by mistake?

“I was just wondering when you’d show up,” says a voice to his left as the bathroom door opens.

“Wah!” Ichigo blurts, jumping in mild fright. It’s replaced with amazement as his gaze falls on the other person’s face. “ _Ishida_!?”

“I can’t wait for Halloween.” None other than Ishida, in the flesh, smirks at his boggle-eyed shock. “Taking you to a haunted house would be hilarious.”

“But how…? Did you…” He starts to say ‘teleport here’ but saves himself just in time. “Were you at the concert, or…?”

“Not this time.” Ichigo knows his lying expressions but this isn’t one of them. “One of my old contacts called in a favor. Her best model had to cancel last-minute and my style happened to suit the theme well.”

“Okay…Weird coincidence, huh?”

“I doubt it,” Ishida disagrees with a tap to his sliding frames. “Lisa was the one who volunteered me to the photographer after reading about the situation on social media.”

“You think she and Tatsuki set us up?” He shrugs but Ichigo interprets it as confirmation. “Then your recommendation earlier…”

Belatedly, he reads the hotel’s name on the key card in his hand. Yup. It’s the Royal.

“I wasn’t sure you would come,” Ishida says like he couldn’t care either way, “but I left instructions with the concierge just in case.”

“I thought you…”

Ichigo stops himself from explaining how he assumed Ishida was giving him the cold shoulder for daring to send such a sappy text. All that matters is he _isn’t_ giving Ichigo the cold shoulder. But it begs the question: why not? Why did Ishida graciously overlook his taboo display of emotional attachment and invite Ichigo directly to his hotel room? He’s not even drunk this time!

“Feel free to use the shower. I just finished, so take as much time as you want.”

“Um…” Now that Ishida mentions it, he does look freshly showered. “Thanks.”

Obviously, Ichigo is still struggling to fit the pieces together. Standing here staring at Ishida probably isn’t going to help, though, so he steps into the bathroom with his travel bag and closes the door behind him.

There are too many things on Ichigo’s mind, that’s all. Maybe it’s not strange that Ishida sort-of-not-really tricked him into sharing a hotel room. And Ichigo isn’t complaining! But there are missing bits to this that seem important and he can’t afford to become even more confused when he’s already swinging wildly between wanting to ‘break up’ with Ishida versus confessing his true feelings once and for all, or both.

By the time Ichigo is done with his nightly hygiene ritual and dressed in the cozy lounge clothes he usually sleeps in, he’s no closer to solving the puzzle Ishida represents in his mind. With no further business in the bathroom, Ichigo hesitates to leave it. He’s slightly worried about what will happen when he does. Are they just going to talk and go to sleep or does Ishida want to fool around? If he’s still on board with the casual thing, why hasn’t he called Ichigo even once? If he doesn’t want to do the casual thing, why invite him over? The questions just keep popping up and spinning around until he’s dizzy with indecision, so he resigns himself to going without answers and opens the door.

Ishida is lying on his belly with a pillow and one bent arm propping up his head. The other hand holds his phone, thumb steadily scrolling as he reads something on the dimmed screen. His glasses have been folded and placed on the side table until morning. He has switched off all the lights except for a table lamp that somehow makes the room seem much more welcoming. There is only one bed, queen-sized and still neatly made. The unobtrusive whir of an air conditioning unit is the only source of sound they don’t make.

Depositing his bag in the closet by the front door, Ichigo tries to project more confidence than he has at the moment as he pads toward the foot of the bed. Ishida glances up at him but doesn’t lower his phone.

“Are you tired or do you want to stay up for a while?”

“Both.”

In light of Ichigo’s answer, he presses a button that makes his screen go dark and sets it aside to offer his full attention. One sits up and the other sits down, shifting positions until they’re mostly facing each other.

“How was the concert?”

“Sold out, if you can believe it. Those shows are always a ton of fun but kinda draining.”

“I’m sorry I missed it.”

“We didn’t play anything new since the one you saw.”

“Every show has something new, something original. Even if only in the way your instruments translate emotion.”

Ichigo smiles a little and diffidently drops his gaze. “I can’t get used to hearing you say stuff like that.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know…I guess it seems like you’d be into more refined music or whatever.”

“Your music is refined, Kurosaki. You’re a great songwriter.”

He’s too blown away by it to respond immediately. Then he gets distracted with staring into Ishida’s eyes. So distracted that he thoughtlessly spills, “Tatsuki thinks you’re good for my creativity.”

Ichigo wants to slap himself as soon as he realizes what just fell out of his big mouth. But Ishida shocks him all over again by smiling like he’s taking it as the sincere compliment it is.

“Well, your manager would know.”

He starts to lean in for a kiss that’s bound to lead to more but Ichigo urgently blurts, “I need to ask you something.”

“…What?”

There is apprehension in Ishida’s tone even if he purposely keeps his features neutral. He’s too clever to miss the signs that Ichigo isn’t in the mood for a quick, meaningless fuck tonight—or maybe ever again—but the fact that Ishida’s willing to hear him out anyway is enough for him to see this through.

“I know I said you don’t have to tell me,” Ichigo begins, eyes on the damask-patterned duvet between them, “but I need to hear it, Ishida.” He forces himself to look up as he somberly asks, “Why won’t you go out with me?”

When the reaction isn’t surprise, Ichigo figures he’s too transparent for his own good. He also figures Ishida has been sensing the ‘let’s get serious’ vibe from him for a while now but hasn’t brought it up on his own, which does not bode well for his chances.

He sighs and turns slightly away from Ichigo. “Remember when you said I had to have been a shy teenager?”

“Yeah?”

“Imagine the shyest, nerdiest, most socially awkward boy you’ve ever seen and multiply that by a hundred.” Ishida gives him a sideways glance as he adds, “I still wasn’t sweet, though.”

“Okay, so you had a rough time in high school. Who doesn’t?”

“It wasn’t just high school, Kurosaki. I never dated in undergrad. I barely even had friends.” A hint of color dusts his cheeks right before he admits, “I didn’t lose my virginity until I was twenty and that was just an awful, drunken one-night stand.”

It’s hard for him to associate the Ishida he knows with one who had pitifully low self-esteem and zero sexual experience until just seven or eight years ago. Talk about a complete turnaround!

“What about med school? There had to be plenty of shy, nerdy classmates in the same boat as you.”

“Sure, there were.” He runs a hand through his hair and shifts to draw his legs closer to his body. “But by then most of them were already married or in a committed relationship. Only the weird ones were still single, like me.”

Ichigo wants to argue that he’s not weird at all but it would probably just annoy him. Also, Ishida is totally weird. That’s what Ichigo loves about him.

More importantly, he’s beginning to realize, “You’re saying you’ve never…?”

“Not really.”

_Damn_. To think Ishida has never gone steady with anyone, never done the whole living together deal or meeting someone’s family, is kind of unbelievable. He’s never shared his life with anyone. He’s never been in love. It makes Ichigo’s chest hurt just thinking about the time he has spent alone. It makes so much sense to him now why Ishida is unflinchingly rational and stoic whenever possible. His hesitation to start a relationship—his _very first_ relationship—with someone as mercurial as Ichigo is understandable.

But the things is, “I like you, Ishida.” Finally braving Ichigo’s intense gaze, he shows some surprise this time. “When I said I wanted to be with you, I meant I really want to _be with you_. As in, exclusively.”

“That’s precisely the problem,” he insists with a regretful pinch to his features. “In our vocation, we can’t be exclusive. And maybe it would be fine for a while but eventually one of us would get jealous and everything would fall apart. I’m not sure how I’d handle it if we tried and it didn’t work out between us—” Halting on a sharp inhale, he closes his eyes in resignation and finishes, “Because I like you, too.”

Blood pulsing with joy, he presses, “Really?”

“Yes, idiot.” Ishida meets his gaze for just a second, then looks away again. “I swear, literally anyone else would’ve noticed by now.”

“Yeah, my bad. I must’ve missed the warmhearted subtext under all that icy snark.” Ichigo smirks when he scoffs but doesn’t deny it. He sobers as his thoughts return to the main subject. “You don’t have to worry about things falling apart because of work, Ishida. I wouldn’t let that happen.”

“Do you honestly expect me to believe you’d never get jealous? I saw the way you looked at Inoue-san after the shoot, you know.” Before Ichigo can respond, he darkly mutters, “Not that I can say anything since I felt the same way, but still.”

Suddenly, he wants to jump up and shout ‘victory!’ because he _never_ thought he’d hear Ishida admit to being jealous over him. Ichigo contains his jubilation somehow in lieu of addressing the key concern here.

“I’d definitely get jealous but, just like Ikkaku’s agreement with Yumichika, as long as I don’t have to hear about all the kinky sex you’re having with other people I won’t have to murder anybody.”

“Oh, problem solved,” Ishida sarcastically quips.

“Yep.”

He rolls his eyes at Ichigo’s mulishness and argues, “Hate to say it but that probably wouldn’t work for me, so—”

“Then I’d quit.” When Ishida blinks incredulously in the wake of his easy proclamation, he reasons, “I’ve still got the band. I’d be cool with devoting myself to music full-time if it means we can make this work. Besides, I haven’t even wanted to sleep with anyone else since I met you.”

It doesn’t occur to Ichigo that he just casually proposed something on nearly the same scale as _marriage_ until he sees Ishida gaping like he’s brandishing a shiny gold ring at him. And here he was thinking ‘I’d quit porn for you’ didn’t sound that romantic!

“I…Kurosaki, you…” He’s struggling with his words and blushing to his roots and it’s so ridiculously cute Ichigo wants to grab him and kiss him and never let go. “S-something like that is…”

“Listen, I know it’s a lot to process and you weren’t expecting any of this when you invited me here,” he says as he reluctantly stands. “So, think about it and get back to me later, all right? I’ll leave you alone for now.”

He flashes Ishida a small, optimistic smile and turns to go.

Pausing by the closet to reclaim his bag, Ichigo doesn’t see it coming when Ishida promptly shoves him against the front door. He starts kissing Ichigo immediately, wild and frenzied like it’s an itch he’s been waiting months to scratch.

“Thought about it,” Ishida says and goes in for another long round. “The answer is _yes_.”

Ichigo groans around the tongue twining with his and pulls Ishida closer. Fingertips comb gently through his hair to trail down the back of his neck and he’s in heaven. He’s utterly euphoric because he gets to hold Ishida against him again, one hand pressed to the small of his back and the other fitted between his shoulder blades. Only now Ichigo isn’t doing it as just another person aching to get into his pants, but as his _boyfriend_.

His kisses begin to take on the same tinge of desperation as Ishida’s. He needs to get closer, as close as possible because, “I want you so fucking bad,” he breathes between a series of quick kisses. Ichigo’s head tips back to rest against the door when that hot mouth starts sucking at his throat. “ _Ishida_ …”

He drags his teeth across Ichigo’s skin just to hear his breath hitch. “How do you want me, Kurosaki?”

One of his hands slides from Ishida’s back, around his side, and down his front until Ichigo’s palm is rubbing him through his pants. “This,” he replies and lightly squeezes for emphasis, “inside me,” plus one more messy kiss to prove he means it when he says, “ _now_.”

He needs to feel wanted—no, _possessed_ by Ishida tonight. Ideally, he’d like to hear his given name for a change but that might be asking too much too soon. Ichigo isn’t about to bring it up just to hear him say ‘don’t call me Uryuu’ a third time.

“Good thing you brought lube.”

Feeling bereft as Ishida breaks contact with him to scrounge around in Ichigo’s bag, he starts to ask, “How did you…?” but realizes it doesn’t matter how he knew since he’s right about it being convenient.

Ishida finds one of a few foil packets stored there and tucks it under his arm for safekeeping while he goes back to kissing Ichigo. Just when he’s wondering why Ishida would hold it there rather than a pocket or somewhere normal like that, the answer filters into his feverish brain. _He’s warming it up for me_ , Ichigo thinks and kisses him that much harder. _God, I love him…_

That observation, and the fact that it’s one hundred percent accurate, completely blindsides him.

The astonishment makes him freeze in place but Ishida doesn’t seem to notice. He guides Ichigo toward the bed, shedding shirts along the way, and pushes him down before climbing on top. Ishida kisses and nips a winding path down his chest as he pulls Ichigo’s sweatpants and boxers down his legs. Once he’s naked, Ishida wastes no time nudging his knees apart and setting straight to the task like the pro that he is, mouth teasing and fingers testing.

There’s no space in his mind for such colossal notions as love and everything it entails. Ichigo can’t keep a coherent stream of thought going to save his life. Especially not once Ishida gets enthusiastic about making him moan over well-placed presses and licks. Ichigo impulsively pets slightly damp hair and bites his lip as he remembers the time they showered together in his apartment. He felt the same way then as he does now: lighthearted, grateful, happy, hopeful. But it only made the letdown that much worse when Ishida distanced himself right after.

_That won’t happen this time_ , he tells himself. He needs to have faith in their ability to overcome their own idiosyncrasies eventually or he’s going to go totally insane.

“Kurosaki,” he calls to get his attention. “Okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” Ishida is still watching him with a hint of concern and Ichigo mentally forces himself to drop it for now. “I’m ready. C’mon.”

At his gesture, Ishida climbs his way back up for a kiss as Ichigo undoes his fly for him. He holds out a hand and Ishida squeezes some lube into his palm, shivering on a low moan to feel Ichigo applying it a second later. When he can’t take it anymore, Ishida kicks his pants the rest of the way off and lines himself up. But he waits until their eyes meet again before easing inside. Ichigo breathes out, breathes in, and kisses Ishida to let him know he did a great prep job, as always.

From the first thrust, it feels different. Ichigo can’t pin it down but he suspects it has something to do with how they can’t keep their lips off each other. It’s like that night at the concert all over again, except less demanding and more deliberate. Ishida would probably smack him for saying it but Ichigo can tell he’s naturally a very generous lover; his partner’s pleasure comes first regardless of what Ishida wants. Ichigo knows because he’s the same way.

Ishida is also moving slower than usual. It feels fantastic—don’t get him wrong—but Ichigo can’t help wondering if it’s a sign that he’s trying to make it last. A stray thought makes him break the kiss to grin and huff a soft laugh.

“What?” Ishida asks, automatically mirroring his smile.

“I was wondering if you’re thinking about math right now.”

“No.” He’s staring into Ichigo’s eyes as he says, “Just you.”

Warm-fuzzies squirm in his stomach. It’s been so long since he’s done this—not having sex but _making love_ —because after hearing that, there’s no doubt in his mind. He wants to say the stupid L-word and get it over with but he also doesn’t want Ishida to give him that stunned look. The one meaning Ichigo’s on his own there.

Instead, he doesn’t say anything but keeps kissing Ishida and starts rocking a little faster against him.

The new pace is accepted and matched but Ichigo gets the impression this won’t be over anytime soon. That’s perfectly fine with him. He’s not even tired anymore. Besides, Ishida’s doing all the hard work, sparing him the discomfort of aggravating sore shoulders. All right, so they’re not that sore but Ichigo appreciates the reprieve anyway. He appreciates the way Ishida subtly adjusts his angle until he hears Ichigo groan from a specific type of pleasure. And the way Ishida smoothly rolls his hips for optimum effect.

“You’re the only man…who could ever…” Ichigo rasps between heavy breaths and electric jolts, “make me come…just by fucking me.”

Chuckling at that, Ishida taunts, “Not even that feral lead singer of yours?”

“Hell no. Grimm fucks like—” He has to pause for air as fingers encircle and pump his erection, frustratingly light. “Like he’s trying to win a fight.”

“All force and no finesse, hm?” Ichigo nods distractedly, thinking a little finesse goes a pretty long way or he wouldn’t be gasping right now. “But I bet that’s what you liked about him.”

“Sometimes.”

It was hot but that’s all it was, and sometimes it wasn’t even that. He’s not the type who enjoys subjugation on a regular basis, much to Grimm’s chagrin.

Every once in a while is awesome, though, or his whole body wouldn’t tingle when Ishida asks, “Should I be more forceful with you, Kurosaki?” He leans down to tug Ichigo’s bottom lip with his teeth and flick his tongue against the sting. “Want me to take control more often?”

“Think you could handle it?” he teases right back. His humor is eclipsed by delight as Ishida presses his thumb against the tip of his leaking cock. “ _Unh_! Shit, I’m so close…”

“I should’ve known you’d be into this since that day I took you on set.” Moving both arms to brace against the mattress, he doubles up on speed and tells Ichigo, “The noise you made when I told you not to come said it all.”

He arches against Ishida, looping arms under his to grip his shoulders as a necessary anchor. It takes him a minute to hoarsely retort, “Caught me.”

“What if I told you the same thing now?” Ichigo would probably do the exact opposite a millisecond later. “What if I wanted you to wait until the next time we’re together? Would you do that for me, Kurosaki?”

Ishida is channeling his inner badass, talking so dirty just to make him moan. And damn, is it working. Ichigo’s toes are curling, fingers digging into Ishida’s skin. He’s right on the edge and ready to fall.

Yet, none of that really influences his opinion when he huskily answers, “ _Yes_. Fuck yes, Ishida. Whatever you want.”

Ichigo knows that’s not the response he was anticipating by the sharp inhale he takes right before his composure shatters. Ishida pants harshly against his throat as the orgasm cascades through his entire body, so potent he’s quivering faintly from the relief.

A moment later, he kisses Ichigo on the mouth and accuses, “You said that on purpose.”

“Whatever you want,” he firmly repeats with a slight shake of his head to show he’s serious.

Ishida licks his lips and parts them like he’s about to speak but he doesn’t. He pulls out and scoots down to suck Ichigo off, humming for the hell of it. The extra sensation is welcome but not needed by any stretch of the imagination. It takes less than a minute for Ishida to make him shout out his bliss.

Eyes shut tight and brain gone blank, Ichigo is too preoccupied with recovering from the rush to notice Ishida has gotten up and gone into the bathroom. He comes right back holding a damp washcloth, pausing to ask permission with his expression before using it on Ichigo. He tosses it carelessly to the floor like a discarded banana peel once he’s done.

“I wasn’t planning to come inside you,” he says with endearing sheepishness. “We’ve never discussed it and some people are finicky about that sort of thing, so…”

Ichigo is already smiling by the time he trails off awkwardly. “I’m not.”

“Well…good.”

It’s so funny to see Ishida acting all indecisive when he was just cranking up his assertiveness to the max. Maybe it makes him nervous to know he has that kind of power whenever he feels like using it.

Ichigo laughs and sits up to steal a kiss. “Cool with you if I spend the night?”

“Of course,” he says even though they’ve never spent the night together. Then he considers it for a second and asks, “We don’t have to cuddle, do we?”

Still smiling at Ishida’s discomfiture, he moves to slip between the sheets as he assures, “Nah, we don’t _have to_.”

He gives Ichigo a wary look before nestling in beside him, close but not quite touching. Reaching over to switch off the lamp, he lies on his side so he can watch every wisp of emotion flitting across Ishida’s features from the dim red glow of an alarm clock. There’s obviously a lot going on in his head and Ichigo’s dying to ask but it’s not worth irritating him over.

Fortunately, Ishida clues him in on his inner monologue after just a few minutes of silence.

“I’ve never cuddled with anyone before,” he abruptly announces. “Unless it was scripted.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“I know.” Sighing in something like surrender, he turns toward Ichigo and explains, “That’s why expressing this type of intimacy isn’t easy for me.”

He strokes up and down the side of Ishida’s arm as he says, “It goes like this.” Brushes black hair back from blue eyes and carries the motion across his cheek. “Or this.” Takes loose hold of his hand. “Or this.” Brings that hand up to kiss the center of his palm. “Or this.”

It’s too dark to tell for sure but Ichigo gets the sneaking suspicion his demonstration has triggered a raging blush. Ishida slides his hand from Ichigo’s grasp and buries it under the blanket.

“I know all that, too.”

“Then what’s the issue, Ishida? Scared you’ll get addicted?” He gives Ichigo a flat glare for referencing a memorable line from their spat at the cast and crew party. “At least try it, okay? If you don’t like it, we can keep to our separate sides of the bed.”

Mulling it over for a moment, Ishida finally grumbles, “Fine. If it’ll get you to shut up, I’ll try.”

“Come here,” he invites with open arms and a warm smile.

To Ichigo’s everlasting glee, he shuffles forward and allows himself to be cuddled.

Ishida is all kinds of tense at first. His muscles are stiff and his breathing is tight. Either he really hates it or he’s so convinced he should that he just can’t relax. Ichigo almost feels bad about it until he realizes it’s for his own good. He kisses Ishida’s forehead and runs fingers through his hair in an attempt to help him chill.

“This feels odd,” he murmurs near Ichigo’s collar bone. “I don’t think I like it.”

The urge to pinch him is strong. “Calculate something if you have to, I don’t care. Just give it a couple more minutes.”

“You’re not letting that go, are you?”

“The fact that calculus is your secret weapon during sex? Nope, you’ll never live it down.”

Ishida’s sigh tickles across his skin but there’s levity in his voice as he says, “I probably shouldn’t tell you about the constellations.”

“Constellations?”

“Mm-hm. I like to list them in alphabetical order, subdivided by relevant equinox. Stars and planets, too.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Then there’s ornithology. Do you know how many different species of birds are native to Japan?”

Ichigo leans back to get a glimpse of his face. There’s mischief written all over it. “Are you messing with me right now?” He just laughs, the brainy punk. “Oh, you’re hilarious. What’s even more hilarious is how believable it is. I bet you could really name a bunch of stars and birds and shit, couldn’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“Freakin’ geniuses…” Ishida’s still smirking about it, so Ichigo kisses him firmly and claims, “My genius.”

Ishida ducks his head so he can’t be kissed again but he doesn’t object to the label. He also doesn’t object when Ichigo’s arms tighten around his body—which, he’s thrilled to note, has gone from rigid to pliant over the course of their goofy conversation. All he needed was a bit of their usual banter to calm him right down.


	11. Boy That You Love

The next morning is one of the nicest he’s ever had.

He wakes up with Ishida still snoozing and snuggled in his arms. Ichigo gets to kiss him awake, giddy grin threatening permanent residence when the first thing Ishida does is peer sleepily into his eyes and smile before hiding his face in the pillow like a shy newlywed. After exchanging the usual pleasantries, Ichigo slyly suggests they take turns going down on each other but Ishida doesn’t have the patience for it. They end up doing a classic sixty-nine scenario instead.

By the time Ichigo gets cleaned up and ready to start his day, Ishida is still goofing off in the bathroom with minor grooming details.

“No wonder your hair always looks perfect if you spend this much time styling it,” Ichigo teases, leaning against the door frame. “Want me to bring you some free breakfast before they run out of the good stuff?”

“I’ll be down in a few minutes. You go ahead.”

“Sure?” Ishida hums an affirmative, so he says, “I’ll take my bag so you can check out whenever.”

“How considerate.”

Ichigo can’t tell if he’s being facetious or sincere. He decides it doesn’t matter and heads downstairs to meet up with his groggy bandmates. They’re clustered at a table by the corner listlessly sipping and picking at their refreshments. Even Tatsuki seems like her energy is lagging.

“What happened to you guys?” asks Ichigo as he plunks into a chair and tucks in to his chosen meal.

“A bunch of Grimm’s friends were in town and they came over to party,” Riruka bitterly explains into the mouth of her coffee mug. “It was fun for a couple of hours but then they wouldn’t _leave_. Ugh, I don’t even know when they finally did…”

Poking ineffectually at the remains of her scrambled eggs and waffle, Tatsuki grumbles, “Around four a.m., I think. That’s what I get for trying to save money by booking us one big room over two small ones.”

Chad has nothing to say, per usual, but his visible eye has a dark shadow under it that corroborates their complaints.

“The worst part is,” grouses Riruka with a hefty sigh, “I didn’t even get laid.”

“Nobody did,” Grimm argues, then cuts his eyes at Ichigo. “Except for this smug bastard. I can’t even look at yer well-fucked face right now without wantin’ to punch it.”

He doesn’t bother asking how Grimm knows. Grimm _always_ knows.

“Sorry I missed the party,” Ichigo says loudly, just to watch their hungover asses flinch from the volume. “Guess I was too busy having actual fun. Oh, that reminds me…”

Without explanation or hesitation, he leans to his left and hugs Tatsuki. She’s the reason he was able to get with Ishida in the first place, even if she did it behind his back by using Lisa as her accomplice. Ichigo is hella grateful to the scheming duo for somehow making the impossible possible. He’ll have to remember to thank Lisa later, too.

“Guh,” she grunts above his shoulder. “Ichigo…can’t breathe!”

He lets her go and flashes a friendly smile for good measure.

“God, you’re right,” Riruka comments in blatant disgust. “That’s totally his ‘I had great sex last night’ grin.” Which she recognizes from shared mornings just like this in the past. “C’mere so I can slap you.”

“Aw, don’t be mad,” he cheekily coos at the fuming pair. “I still love you guys.”

Tatsuki chuckles because she knows what’s coming but Ichigo doesn’t have a clue.

“Don’t try to act cool, Deathberry! We all heard your pathetic confession through the door.”

“What!?”

“Yeah, we were snooping,” Riruka owns up to it with no sign of remorse. She does an over-exaggerated, whiny imitation of him saying, “ _I want you so fucking bad_.”

Grimm’s version of Ishida’s voice is even more insulting, “ _How do you want me_?”

“ _This_ ,” Riruka gasps dramatically.

“ _Inside me_ ,” simpers Grimm in a nasally tone.

“ _Nooow~_ ,” finishes Riruka with a wanton ululation.

And Ichigo sucks in a breath to start screeching but a hand on his shoulder stops him at the last second. He looks up in time to see Ishida bending forward to give him a kiss in warm greeting. Very warm.

As he repurposes an unoccupied chair from a nearby table to join them, Grimm and Riruka gape in shock and undisguised jealousy. Noticing the latter in particular, Ichigo can’t help wondering if Ishida did it on purpose as punishment for teasing his new boyfriend.

“Good morning,” Ishida cordially greets the group as a whole.

“Um,” tries Tatsuki, struggling to contain her amusement as their two noisiest band members remain conspicuously silent. “Morning, Ishida. Sleep well?”

Ichigo chokes on a bite of blueberry muffin to hear him evenly admit, “Yes, quite well, thanks to you and Lisa.”

“So, that’s why you hugged me,” Tatsuki ponders aloud, assessing Ichigo. “Ready to admit the ‘my friend said, your friend said’ bullshit worked?”

He says nothing but her Cheshire grin says it all.

Less than a minute later, Ichigo’s eyes bulge out of his head to watch Ishida slowly peel and then suggestively tongue the tip of a banana, all while holding unflinching eye contact with Grimm.

“God dammit,” the sexually frustrated lead singer growls and gets up with a raucous clatter to leave.

Ichigo’s eyes swivel to his as he innocently chews a bite of intentionally phallic fruit, and falls in love with Ishida all over again.

“Word to the wise, Ishida-kun,” says Chad, who misses absolutely nothing, “you might want to avoid aggravating someone like him.”

“His love language is violence,” Ichigo sardonically agrees. Then he thinks about their first film and all that sparring in the training room. “Actually, never mind. You could probably take him.”

Arching an eyebrow, he asks, “Could I?”

The way Ishida says it makes it clear he’s talking about another kind of ‘taking’ entirely.

He leans in to playfully warn, “Not unless you wanna make me a murderer.”

“And which of us would be your victim?”

“Both, ‘cause I’d kill him and torture you.”

Leaning toward him in turn, Ishida lowers his voice as he teases, “Tell me more about this so-called ‘torture’.”

“Want a demo?”

“I’d rather have the full service.”

“Oh my god!” cries Riruka as she slaps the table to stand up and goes the way of Grimm. From halfway down the hall, they hear her hollering, “Stupid pretty boys, eugh! _So_ not fair!”

“I’ve never seen her face that red before,” Chad soberly mentions.

“It matched her hair perfectly,” Tatsuki jovially concurs. “But I can’t say I blame the poor girl with these two steaming up the joint.”

“Lucky you’re immune,” Ichigo flatly quips. “Sometimes it pays to be a lesbian, huh?”

She chuckles and shrugs good-naturedly. “Put Ishida in a dress and I might be into it. No offense.”

“None taken,” he says and sips his orange juice. “You’re not the first to suggest the same.”

“Have you done drag before?” Ichigo curiously asks, not surprised to see Ishida nod. “Send me those pictures.”

Smirking around his cup, he sets it down to say, “What do I get if I do?”

“What do you want?”

They pause in the midst of yet another round of flirting to see Chad quietly stand, bow his head respectfully toward Ishida, and mosey down the hall like the other two.

“I think Sado took the not-so-subtle hint that you two want to be left alone,” Tatsuki insightfully observes.

“Well, what’s your excuse?”

Raising her eyebrows at the least subtle hint of all, she relents, “I’ll be napping upstairs if you need me.”

As soon as she’s out of earshot, Ichigo asks, “Do you have plans today?”

“In Nagano? None that I know of, although I wouldn’t put it past Lisa to find work for me in the next city on your tour list.”

“You could just come with us if you want…” he offers casually, but his heart starts thudding anyway.

Ishida shows him a quick, flattered smile before saying, “I doubt your bandmates would appreciate me tagging along as a distraction.”

“Hmm,” Ichigo hums unhappily. “You are pretty distracting.” Then he brightens and reminds, “You’re also good for my creativity, so…tradeoffs, right?” Ishida finishes the rest of his banana, tactfully not agreeing or disagreeing to anything. “At least spend the morning with me. We don’t even have to head for our next gig until late afternoon.”

It’s verging on pathetic how desperate Ichigo is for more time with him but he can’t help himself. Not only did he realize he’s in love with Ishida last night, but he suspects it might even be mutual. There’s definite potential, if nothing else, and Ichigo feels like a gardener who just planted a precious seed. He wants to make sure there’s plenty of sunshine and nutrients to ensure growth right from the beginning. He’s also just absurdly happy to have Ishida smiling and flirting and talking with him so easily.

“I suppose I can commit to the morning,” he relents, setting his empty cup down with a neat tap reminiscent of finality. “It’s been a while since I’ve visited Nagano’s shopping districts.”

“Lemme guess,” Ichigo says after stuffing the last chunk of muffin into his mouth, “clothing stores?”

“How did you know?”

Smirking at Ishida’s harmless sarcasm, he proposes, “As long as you’re cool with doing that dressing room montage thing for me, I won’t complain.”

“Oh, that’s a given. And don’t be surprised if I drag you behind the curtain with me when the sexual tension becomes too strong.”

“We’ll need to be quiet if you wanna do that kind of thing.” Ichigo moves his lips close to Ishida’s ear and murmurs, “I might have to gag you. Extra bondage optional.”

When his sultry suggestions get no immediate response, Ichigo sits back to see why and catches a glimpse of Ishida’s pensive expression before it shifts to a more mood-appropriate configuration. Ichigo almost wants to ask if he overdid it but he really doesn’t think that’s the problem.

“There’s something I’d like to discuss,” Ishida finally broaches the hush he created, “but not here.”

Trying not to read into his sudden seriousness, Ichigo nods and ventures, “Want to see our tour bus?”

Ishida’s face goes carefully blank, which is even more worrying, except there’s a breathless aspect to his tone as he replies, “That would be fine,” and Ichigo can’t keep a grin back when he notices an eager shine in blue eyes. Ishida is trying to hide how he has gone into ‘fanboy mode’ and it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen!

“Let’s go,” Ichigo invites with a suave wink, feeling more like a rock star than maybe ever in his entire life. “I’ll show you where the magic happens.”

They hoof it out back to the rear parking lot and he digs out a spare key—every member of the band has one since they’re all prone to losing small objects on a regular basis—so he can unlock the door and show Ishida inside. It’s objectively unimpressive, having been outfitted like a standard mobile home for the most part, but to a fan it’s as grand as Valhalla.

As his favorite fan explores the bus, he can’t help recalling last night’s hallmark comment of _you’re a great songwriter, Kurosaki_. It makes his heart balloon with pride and appreciation all over again. So does the reverent look Ishida shows him once he’s done taking stock of the place.

“Have you written many songs in here?”

“Some,” Ichigo agrees and goes to plop sideways on the lower left bunk in a cluster of four, half hidden by a sliding curtain. He pokes a button that switches on a dim light in the narrow compartment as he says, “I get wired after a really great show sometimes and can’t sleep for hours. That’s when I grab a notebook and hum random melodies to myself like a loser while everyone else is passed out.”

“You’re the most famous ‘loser’ I’ve ever met,” Ishida teases and daintily perches on the very edge of the futon. “I can picture you lying here scribbling down music notes and lyrics in the middle of the night until you’re too tired to keep your eyes open.”

He should know better than to sit within reach, Ichigo thinks right before grabbing him. Ishida doesn’t put up much resistance at all but allows his back to be pressed snugly against Ichigo’s chest, arms secured tightly to hold him close.

“You can see it firsthand if you come with us,” he persuades and kisses the nape of Ishida’s neck. “Just for a few days?”

“Maybe later.” His hands settle warmly over Ichigo’s, making him sigh into mint-scented dark hair. “Let’s give your bandmates some time to get used to the idea of us being together now. Besides, my schedule may be more flexible than most but I do still have obligations and deadlines to consider.”

“Deadlines?”

“I’m a freelance editor for various academic articles.”

Leaning up on an elbow to peek at Ishida’s profile, he says, “I didn’t know that. What else do I not know about you?”

The subtle disapproval in Ichigo’s tone has him smiling around his reply. “Even Lisa doesn’t know _everything_ about me.”

“Yeah, I’d hope not,” he mutters with one particular topic in mind. They just look and act enough like siblings that it’d be sort of creepy to hear she’s seen him naked. “Please don’t tell me she was your first kiss, or…”

Ishida laughs quietly and shakes his head. “Nothing like that. We’ve been friends since middle school but neither of us ever thought of each other in a romantic way.”

“Her loss,” says Ichigo, kissing his shoulder.

Ishida doesn’t speak for a long moment but his fingers splay out and intertwine with Ichigo’s in wordless welcome. It’s so cozy and peaceful to lie together that he’d be fine with spending the rest of the morning just like this. Having Ishida here makes the tour bus feel more like home than it ever has. Ichigo wonders when his concept of ‘home’ expanded from a familiar location to encompass the people who resided in it.

“About what I wanted to discuss in private,” Ishida eventually begins with a hint of hesitation, “have you heard of a man named Szayel-Apollo Granz? He’s a director, producer, and occasional actor specializing in fetishism.”

“Uh, yeah. We met at my birthday party, actually.” Curious to hear that, he turns to face Ichigo and asks for details with a quizzical expression. “He wanted my help convincing you to sign on for one of his projects. Gave me a gaudy business card and everything.”

“You never mentioned it,” Ishida points out in the cadence of a question.

“I didn’t think you’d be up for it. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have needed help convincing you on his own.”

“True, I normally avoid that sector of the industry for the most part. I happen to owe Granz a favor, however, and he’s been pretty adamant about having me pay it back by starring in one of his films.”

“Screw that, Ishida. If you don’t wanna do it, don’t do it. If he won’t back down, let me know. Renji and I will—”

“The reason I haven’t wanted to do it,” he smoothly interrupts Ichigo’s manly bluster, “is because the role would require a costar I could trust implicitly. The scenario itself appeals to me, though.”

“Oh. Okay, so…”

“Here,” Ishida pulls out his phone and opens a file before handing it over, “read the summary.”

“Wow,” he says once he skims through it. “This reads less like a script than an instruction manual. Sure you’d want to do all this stuff?”

“That’s actually the revised script. I spent nearly an hour negotiating with Granz to get it up to par with my preferences.” Ichigo’s eyebrows rise. And Urahara collaborates with that guy!? “So, what do you think?”

“Sounds intense,” he simply comments.

Ishida gives him an impatient look and rephrases, “I meant, what do you think about doing the scene with me?”

“Uhhh…” Ichigo drawls, mind turning to mush from the prospect alone. He wants to ask, _you really trust me that much?_ But obviously Ishida does or he wouldn’t have brought it up, which just makes this harder to wrap his head around. “I, um…”

“Forget it,” he mumbles and pockets his phone.

He starts to turn away and Ichigo panics. “I’ll do it!”

“Don’t strain yourself, Kurosaki.”

“I want to do it,” he insists, pinning Ishida to the bed so he can’t walk out and not talk to him for weeks like he tends to do when he’s pissed. “Honestly, it sounds really fucking hot. I just haven’t done that type of role before, but I’m totally up to the challenge.”

“Are you?”

“Listen, if you need to do a test run, there are a bunch of bungee cords in a cabinet somewhere. I’ll lock the door and we can—”

“All right, I get it.” Ichigo relaxes when his enthusiasm wins a faint smile. “It will probably take a while to get the details hashed out anyway. I’ll ask again later.”

“My answer’s not gonna change, Ishida. I’ll never say ‘no’ to shooting a movie with you.” Then he looks askance and mumbles, “As long as I don’t have to share you.”

Rather than get annoyed over Ichigo’s jealous nature, he leans up for a light kiss as his smile spreads.

Several weeks later, _Camisado_ ’s summer tour finally ends. He only managed to meet up with Ishida twice since that night at the hotel. Their conversation changed everything. Not just their official relationship status, but _everything_. They have been messaging and calling and video chatting like crazy. Ichigo keeps him updated on the tour’s progress, sharing anecdotes and jokes and song ideas because Ishida has become the number one person he wants to share those things with now. In return, he tells Ichigo more about the freelance work he does. It’s not just the modeling and article editing that keep him busy. Ishida has all sorts of interests and hobbies and side gigs. Sometimes he also takes acting roles that don’t involve disrobing at all. They get to know each other so much better, even though they’ve never been more physically distant. There is absolutely no shortage of intellectual or emotional intimacy between them.

It has been a week and a half since the last time Ichigo got to hold him, smell him, kiss him. He knows he could make it another year if he had to—or ten years, even, just like Odysseus—and he would still be waiting, chaste as Penelope. But when he gets back from tour and Ishida agrees to meet him at his apartment first thing, the drive home feels like an eternity. The love of his life is waiting for him and why are all these damned people driving so slow!?

Ichigo parks crookedly in the garage and runs to the stairwell. He takes the stairs two at a time, almost careening into a neighbor when he bursts out into the hall. Apologizing automatically, he slows to a more respectable speed as he approaches the turn to his unit’s hallway. He hears Ishida’s voice and almost calls out to him, but his tone is solemn. Concerned. Ichigo hears another voice respond. Nel. Some instincts prompts him to halt before taking the turn that would reveal him to the pair talking just outside of his apartment. Their voices are soft but the hall is silent and he catches every word.

“Yes, I understand, Neliel-san. He does have that effect on people.”

“It’s not just that.” Her voice wavers like she’s been crying. Maybe she still is. “Ichigo saved my life. Did he tell you that?”

“No, I’m afraid he hasn’t mentioned it.”

That’s because he has no idea what Nel is talking about. When did Ichigo save her life? Was he sleepwalking when he did it?

“My ex-husband…used to beat me,” Nel says in the tiniest voice, he has to lean close against the corner and strain to hear her. “Every day and for no reason at all. I was just an object to take his frustrations out on. Not even worth apologizing to. Nnoitra never apologized to anyone.”

“I’m so sorry,” murmurs Ishida, sounding sincere. “No one deserves to be treated in that way.”

“Thank you.” Nel sobs, and he can picture Ishida’s hands reaching for hers to offer comfort. “I would have died if I had stayed with him. Nnoitra would have killed me if I didn’t do it first. I was so miserable, so alone.” She pauses, drawing a shaky breath. Ishida whispers some gentle reassurance that gives her the strength to continue, “Then one day Ichigo was there, passing by on the street. Nnoitra had dragged me into an alley to hit and scream at me. Ichigo saw what was happening, like many others did, and he was the only one who cared enough to help me.”

Nel dissolves into weeping while Ishida does his best to console her. Ichigo stands frozen by the corner. He remembers that day. It was years ago, when he was still in college. When he was still with the woman who wanted him to become a father far too early. Those days, Ichigo was always tense. He would fly off the handle at any gutter punk who stepped up to him. He’d even started to earn a reputation around campus as the dude you don’t mess with if you’ve had a few drinks too many. Nnoitra was just another drunk asshole on his list of well-deserved beatdowns. Ichigo never even knew his name, and he never knew the woman he had liberated and spoken so kindly to afterward was Nel. That woman was emaciated and sickly looking with lank hair and dull eyes. Nothing like the beautiful, vivacious woman Ichigo is familiar with today. The comparison is as a rosebud to its bloom.

“Is that why you love him?” Ishida asks without jealousy. “Because he cared enough to help?”

“Yes. You do understand. I knew you would. You look at him the same way I do.”

An unsettling hush follows her sweet observation. Ichigo swallows nervously and wonders if this is the best time to interrupt. He knows he shouldn’t be listening in on their private discussion. Ishida will be aggravated when he confesses the sin later. And he will. He’ll always fess up and take his lashes because Ichigo is way more afraid of secrets than he is of Ishida’s wrath. Secrets break trust like a hammer to glass.

“Do you know the difference between loving someone and being in love with them, Neliel-san?” Whatever reaction she gives is nonverbal. Ishida answers his own question, “You love him—”

“But you’re _in love_ with him,” Nel finishes in the tone of epiphany.

Ishida doesn’t respond with words. Ichigo would give literally anything he owns for the ability to peer around the corner without being spotted with his bright orange hair. He is desperate to see Ishida’s expression. The answer to Nel’s assumption must be all over his face!

“Do you think you could love him only as a friend?”

“Oh, I never wanted to…do _that_ with Ichigo!” she says hastily. “He is my guardian angel and I adore him, but…” Nel hesitates. Ishida waits. “After Nnoitra, I haven’t wanted to share my bed with a man ever since. Too many bad memories. Too many nightmares.”

Ichigo bites his lip and tilts his head back to rest on the wall. Yep, he should’ve interrupted them while he had the chance. Way too sad and awkward now.

“Do you think you might like to speak with someone about those memories? I know a very nice woman who specializes in helping people just like you, Neliel-san.”

“Could I still come and visit with you and Ichigo?”

“Yes, of course,” Ishida says on both of their behalf. “We’re all friends, aren’t we?”

Nel makes an unintelligible sound like she’s bursting with joy. Ichigo hears a surprised huff of breath and the sound of clothes rustling. He smiles because he knows Ishida is experiencing his first bone-crushing Nel hug and Ichigo can picture his initial awkwardness fading to affection. He hears them exchanging phone numbers. Ishida promises to contact her once he talks to his therapist friend and Nel can schedule an appointment at her leisure.

There are sounds of movement—they must have been sitting on the floor—and Ichigo starts to panic. The only exit is down the hall he’s hiding in and it sounds like Nel is on her way out. He quietly backtracks to the stairwell door and opens it, allowing it to close loudly before he begins walking normally.

“Oh!” Nel says when she sees him and breaks out into a watery grin. “Hello, Ichigo!”

“Hey, Nel,” he greets with more tenderness than usual. She’s definitely been crying. “Are you okay?”

“I’m just fine now, thanks to your wonderful boyfriend.”

Ichigo grins helplessly. “He is wonderful, isn’t he?”

Scooping Nel into a friendly hug, his aching heart is soothed to see her so serene. Ishida did this for her. And for Ichigo. Now, Nel could finally begin to move on from her obsession with him. She could find more friends to share her boundless love with and, maybe someday, she could find a partner who deserves someone as beautiful as she is, inside and out.

Ichigo releases her and she cheerfully waves goodbye before stepping into the elevator. He continues around the corner to find Ishida waiting for him by the door. Ichigo greets him with a light kiss and takes his hand as he unlocks the door and leads them inside.

“I heard most of that,” he admits immediately, locking the door back behind him. “You were amazing with her.”

Ishida says nothing at first. He looks at Ichigo like he’s figuring something out. “She was right.”

“About how wonderful you are? Yeah, I noticed.” Ishida squeezes his hand, expression serious. This isn’t playtime. Ichigo sobers and moves to stand in front of him. “What’s wrong?”

“You,” Ishida replies, and Ichigo’s heart drops like a block of cement. It plummets through the floor when Ishida pulls his hand away and says, “You’re all wrong for me, Kurosaki.”

“What?” He doesn’t care that he sounds like a lost child. That’s exactly what he feels like. “Are you—”

“Just listen.” Taking a deep breath, Ishida keeps his eyes on Ichigo’s as he says, “I always thought I’d end up alone, or settling for some pretentious bitch my father wanted me to marry so he can have his pedigreed grandchildren.”

“I can’t even picture that.”

“I can. It’s all I’ve pictured for the past ten years. Then you came along and you’re nothing like what I pictured. You’re brash and impulsive and ridiculous. You’re an open flame, catching fire to everything you touch and leaving chaos in your wake.”

“Ishida, please don’t do this. I—”

“Ichigo,” he says to get his attention and it totally works. “You are so wrong for me. I’ve known that since before I met you. So, why are we together?” Ishida pauses, giving him a chance to see the solution to this puzzle for himself but Ichigo is too shocked and hurt to think at all. Ishida’s voice is gentle as feathers as he continues, “We’re together because you are perfect for me. You are honest and loyal and compassionate. You help anyone who needs it without a second thought.”

“I didn’t know what Nel was going through when I helped her. I just saw some asshole who needed to be set right and a woman who couldn’t do it for him.”

Ishida smiles a little, fond and sad at the same time. “I know. You didn’t think, you just did what needed to be done. You saved a woman’s life and earned her adoration in the process, all without a shred of self-interest. That’s why she’s right about you. And about me.”

“Right about you? How—”

_You’re_ in love _with him,_ he hears Nel’s voice echo in his mind.

Ichigo feels his eyes widen as his breath catches in his throat. The shape of Ishida’s smile shifts. Less sad. More fond.

“I’m in love with you, Ichigo. If I were half as honest with myself as you are, I would have realized it that night at your concert—when you invited me backstage and asked me to sing for you, then looked at me like I was everything.” Ishida’s eyes have gone glassy with emotion and Ichigo can feel his welling to match. “I saw how much it hurt you to find me with him and I pretended not to care, but I did. It made me feel guilty and ashamed and _so happy_ that you wanted me enough to be angry over my betrayal.”

“Not angry. Furious,” Ichigo corrects and they both laugh.

Ishida steps close and reaches out to take both of his hands. Ichigo touches their foreheads together, sighing with overflowing relief and contentment.

“You should know that I’m terrified of loving you,” Ishida murmurs, a fine tremor in his voice, “but I won’t run from this anymore. I won’t push you away. I want my life to become _ours_. And I want you to be the only person who gets to call me ‘Uryuu’.”

Ichigo’s heart soars. He’s so ecstatic he can’t even articulate it, so he settles for kissing Ishida like he’s been afraid to until now: sweet and loving and desperate. It’s a kiss that says, ‘I want you. I need you. Please be only mine.’ It’s the kiss Ichigo has been dying to give him for too long. Ishida drapes his arms around Ichigo’s shoulders and kisses him back the exact same way.

“I love you, Uryuu,” he says, holding him tightly. “I’m so in love with you.”

Feeling a smile tug at the lips he kisses, Ichigo isn’t surprised to hear him say, “I know.”


End file.
